


Hot in the City

by Powerpuffgoil



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adventures and misadventures alike to ensue, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Reader, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerpuffgoil/pseuds/Powerpuffgoil
Summary: Your daily commute home from work is interrupted when a bomb-toting foreigner sweeps you off your feet.Or, more accurately, blows you off your feet.





	1. kaboom

The air smelled of street filth and exhaust. You clutched your satchel close as you made your way hurriedly towards the bus stop. The area was particularly crowded, and you were forced to walk alongside the curb, where rainwater from an earlier storm flowed in a steady stream around your worn sneakers.

Gradually, light spilled from between the skyscrapers above as the sun emerged in the overcast sky. With it came an overwhelming warmth that magnified the nauseating smells around you; asphalt and body odor and dumpsters in the alleyway.

By the time your nine to five shift at the deli was over, you were more than ready to retreat to your bed. The commute home was roughly an hour, including the trek through the labyrinthine forest of pedestrians and the wait for the arrival of your bus.

You really did miss the country.

Though you loved it so, you aspired for more than what it had to offer - lush, green landscapes through which breezes carrying the scent of honeysuckle blew and towns were few and far between. The countryside was nostalgic - it was home - but your academic inclinations had driven you to pack your life up and move to the city. So, here you were.

You'd lived here for a little over seven months, and a routine had by now loosely formed to keep you grounded each day. Yet, the city was full of surprises, and they came in many forms, but were mostly mundane.

As you neared the bus stop, you yanked your sleeve down to check the time. 5:05 blinked up at you in a steady glow of blue. Your bus was due at 6:15.

For once, you were early. What to do?

Several buildings down, there was a snack stand from which a mouth-watering aroma wafted. You were deserving of a treat after today's shift, you concluded.

The menu was sparse, but still you struggled with a decision. Soon you were ambling back to the bus stop with a deep-fried corndog in one hand and a small cardboard tray of waffle fries in the other.

Halfway there you paused and shifted your grip on the corndog, freeing two fingers and reaching to snag a bite of one of your fries.

_Hot._

You were hardly able to wince at the pain from your scalded tongue when an explosion went off, sending a cloud of dust and debris surging towards you.

You could see nothing but grey beyond the scattered fries surrounding your supine form. Above the ringing in your ears nothing could be heard, but you felt the vibrations of what seemed to be multiple rounds of gunfire going off in an unknown direction.

_Gotta get home-_

So, you were on your feet and you were running. You had always imagined that if an instance like this were to occur, that your plan to survive would be to simply lie down and play dead. Turns out one seldom really knows how they might react when such theories turn into actuality.

You hadn't made it very far when you collided with something both soft and solid.

Oh - a person.

-Right?

The wild yellow eyes and shock of blonde, singed hair tempted your brain to liken him to an imp. Indeed, in your panic-stricken state you could easily be convinced that this was judgement day and Satan's horde of demons had come to collect mortal souls; but you always had a vivid imagination.

A wicked grin split the man's face and he said something in an accented voice that you couldn't quite make out. You turned on your heel to run, but were yanked back when he grabbed the strap of your satchel. Without a second thought, you shed the bag altogether, valuing your life over your wallet and whatever else might have resided in the depths of the bag.


	2. a rat in the house

You were in no state to wait for the bus which, judging by the flock of police cars crowding the street where the explosion had occurred, would take twice as long to arrive, if not more. 

So instead you opted to frantically wave down a cab, and all but threw yourself into the backseat when one finally pulled up before you.

It turned out however that even a taxi couldn't weave its way through traffic fast enough to get you home by sundown. You had fallen asleep by the time the cab came to a halt in front of your townhouse apartment so suddenly that you lurched forward, throwing an arm in front of you to brace yourself against the back of the passenger seat. 

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, sunshine. You're home." The driver twisted his body around in his seat to regard you with a grimace of a smile. His expression quickly turned sour when you opened the door of the cab and stuck one leg out without a word. 

"Hey, _HEY_! Now, uh, sweety- You weren't plannin' on bailin' out on payin' the fare, were ya?" he called after you. 

"I don't have money on me. I'll be right back," you answered with haste. "-be just a minute, I swear."

"Alright, girlie- but if you're lyin' I'm onto you!" the man yelled. 

With a dismissive wave of your hand you ascended the steps to the door.

Though you had lost your satchel, you were at least smart enough to keep a spare key to your apartment in the back pocket of your pants at all times. 

As you went to unlock the door, something caught your attention. Surrounding the doorknob was a flurried mess of grey marks that appeared to be fingerprints. Your brow quirked as you regarded the sight, but you soon shrugged it off. In this part of town it was possible that some drunk had happened upon your doorstep thinking it was their own. It wouldn't be the first time.

When you opened the door and stepped in, you were met with a peculiar stench of something _burnt_ \- like hair or plastic. You were used to being enveloped in the scent of your air fresheners upon coming home, so the aroma threw you off at first. 

Once again you brushed the oncoming feelings of unease aside and made your way into the dining area, where you remembered you had left a couple of twenties that could be of use for the cab fare. 

Crossing the living room, you called out in a singsong voice to your beloved cat, who you so very much looked forward to seeing each day after work, but especially after this particular day.

"C'mere, Spunky..." you cooed.

The small feline failed to make an appearance, and you were instead answered by a scantly familiar accented voice tinged with laughter.

"Well, that ain't my name, but I'll take it."

Your chest seized.

_Oh God_

_Someone's in here_

Frozen where you stood, you blinked towards the doorway leading to where the voice of the undoubted intruder had come.

On the mantel at the opposite end of the room stood a metal statue of an angel that had been gifted to you by a relative. The figure held her hands high above her head in a prayer posture, the tips of her fingers pointed and blunt. You advanced gingerly to retrieve the statue as a meager means of defense.

Once you bore the statue in hand, you tiptoed painstakingly slow towards the entrance of the kitchen, grimacing as the old floorboards creaked beneath your weight.

When at last you reached the doorway, you pressed your trembling form against the wall and chanced a peek into the kitchen to see what you were up against. You weren't sure what to make of the sight you beheld.

A man with wild blonde hair lounged leisurely at the dining room table with his legs - or rather, leg and peg -propped on the tabletop and one arm draped at his side over the back of the chair. He sat twitching his fingers restlessly, seemingly unaware that you were watching him even though he knew you were there.

For a moment you could only gawk incredulously as you scrambled inwardly for an idea of what you would do once you had his attention. Suddenly the man began whistling a tune you didn't recognize. You supplemented your fear with anger and pushed off of the wall before storming into the kitchen.

"Excuse me, but what the fuck are you doing?" 

The man's whistling died down to a low, monotone note as his head snapped in your direction. Immediately you recognized those crazed eyes from earlier that evening when the explosion had went off at the bus stop. The expression he wore when he saw you was the facial equivolent of an exclamation point.

"G'day!" he beamed.

You stared incredulously at him.

 _You?!_

You might have said it out loud if you could only force your gaping mouth to enunciate.

"I've been waitin' around on you all the livelong arvo, mate," he said, pulling his legs inwards and springing to his feet. 

You slowly lifted the hand clutching the statue as he made his way in a lurching gait towards you. 

"What."

The man let out a chuckle at your dumbfounded response, but his merriment faded slightly when his gaze fell on the statue as you raised it over your head.

"I don't know you. Get-" you stammered, flustered by the renewed grin that played on his face. "Get _out_!"

"No need ta get yer knickers in a twist! I ain't gonna bite ya-"

"No need to get my-? Dude, this is my house. Who are you?!" you shouted, backing away as he neared.

"Look, ah- Let's just say that I'm kinda sorta... _wanted._ Ya get my drift?" 

"Yeah? Okay, so _get out_! Like... _now_! I'll call the cops. I'm not even fucking joking, dude."

The man scowled at your threat, digging his fingers through his patchy hair and tugging it in what appeared to be a gesture of both thought and frustration. He let out a whiny growl and dropped to his knees before you.

"L-listen, mate. I do fancy a good explosion or two. Or three. Or four! And ah... so on. I'm a, a mad bomber if ya will-" He tittered. "When I went kaboom earlier, it was an accident. I swear! I'm a clumsy bloke! I ain't exactly all _there_ , y'know?! Then I saw you- a-and you saw me- And then ya ran off and I figured you'd probably turn me in! So I had ta find ya and-"

You could only stare him down in disbelief as he rambled on, gesturing wildly to accent his words. You were still very much wary of him, but now part of you wondered if he was merely eccentric. You lifted your hand for him to cease his yabbering and he obeyed, practically choking down the remainder of whatever else he planned on saying.

"Look," you said, inching around him. "I have... no idea what you're on about, but I can promise you that if you just-" You tucked the statue beneath your underarm and pressed both hands against him, pushing him forward towards the front door. "If you just- _go_ -"

He allowed himself to be moved only a short ways until he reached the doorway to the living area, where he immediately braced himself against the frame. You grunted with the exertion of trying to force his lanky yet admittedly muscular form through. 

"Oi, c'mon, hear me out- I weren't done talkin'!" he complained.

"Well, I'm done listening," you declared, continuing your efforts to escort him out. "I don't even know how you found out where I live."

The man let out a snicker. "Funny you should say that! 'Cause, see... before ya stopped me I was gonna tell ya I brought ya somethin' that's yours."

That caught your attention. You squinted in return to the wide-eyed look he cast you over his shoulder.

"Go on," you said, withdrawing your hands from their place against his back.

An expression bordering on smugness settled on the man's sharp features as he brushed past you and hobbled back into the kitchen. When he saw that you were watching his every move he waved his hand at you.

"Close yer eyes."

You considered protesting, but decided against it. All went dark, and you could only hear his uneven footsteps against the kitchen floor. Soon you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Alright, then. Open 'em up."

When did so, you were first met with that same borderline smug expression. Your gaze dropped to his hand, which was clutching a satchel - your satchel, if the screenprinted logo on the front was any indication.

"My bag," you said, reaching to take it when he waggled it impatiently.

"'S right. See, now ya don't gotta be in such a rush ta out me, eh?" 

You began to nod in agreement but stopped yourself with a scowl. "Hang on, though. How do I know you didn't take anything out of it?"

"Oi, I might be a purloiner - ya got me there - but I'll have you know I'm a _selective_ purloiner," he declared with an air of dignity in his voice. "Search it through if it suits ya."

You scoffed, dropping to your knees and setting the statue aside before busying yourself with the task of ensuring that everything was in its place inside the bag: wallet, important documents, personal hygienic items... Furthermore, the contents of the wallet... Once you were finished, you found that all was where it belonged, much to your relief.

You rose to your feet once more and let out a sigh of defeat.

"Well," you began in reluctance, "I guess I should thank you for returning it to me." The man offered you a smile that was less than humble. It faltered slightly when you continued.

"Only- how the fuck did you get in here?"

The man blinked at you before covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. "Well I don't know much 'bout state of the art technology, but your lock system's pretty dated, mate, and... How 'bout I just say that my last name ain't Fawkes for nothin,'" he returned. His brow furrowed. "'Cept it ain't spelled the same way... b-but you get the picture!" 

You started to say something, but a rapid pounding on the door stopped you. The man whose last name - you now knew - rhymed with fox stiffened at the ill-tempered nature of the knocking and his wild eyes darted to you. 

"Y-you already called the coppers, didn't you?" he squawked, jabbing a finger in your direction. You shook your head.

"No, I haven't," you returned, reaching into your bag to retrieve the money to mollify the taxi driver, who had completely slipped your mind due to this whole ordeal and was no doubt livid by now. "Not yet."

You approached the door with the money in hand and opened it, casting a glance over your shoulder to see your intruder's reaction to your nonchalant threat. You were scantly satisfied at the bitter expression he wore and you turned with a smirk to regard the taxi driver.

As was expected, he was beet red and prepared to embark on a tirade, but was tamed when you placed the bill on top of his clenched, upraised fist - followed by a ten and a five for good measure. You offered him a cheeky smile and shut the door promptly in his face before he could bother to inform you with colorful language just how little he appreciated your so-called attempt to rip him off.

"Well, Mr. Fawkes, I still extend the invitation for you to promptly leave my house," you said, hand still clutching the doorknob as you addressed the man standing a ways behind you.

"Listen, mate, you don't understand," he stated. 

"What exactly do I not understand about wanting an intruder to leave?" 

"Ain't it obvious? The coppers are out there lookin' for me as we speak. Don't help that I'm talkin' to the prime witness at the scene of the crime. 'f I up and leave, well... I don't got nowhere else ta go! I'll be up shit creek!"

"Isn't that a good thing? I mean, don't you deserve it?"

The man frowned at that.

"Well you'll be up shit creek if you _don't_ leave, so it's your best bet I guess to scram and find somewhere to lay low."

"That's just the thing though!" he blurted, throwing his hands in the air. He mused visibly for a moment, drumming his fingers on the doorframe. "Look, mate- I lied. Well, sorta. See, _technically_ , yea, I'm wanted. And _technically_ there was a reason I was totin' them explosives that went off without my say so earlier. But!"

You looked on in confusion as he started pacing.

"I've got a pal, yea? My best mate. Also my bodyguard. 50/50 share of all the spoils. That was our agreement. Well, see, he's wanderin' about somewhere in this bloody city and I don't know where 'cause somehow we went and got separated. So here I am all by lonesome 'cross the pond. Now mind you, I ain't squeamish by no means, mate, b-but... If it's 50/50.. y'know... 'f I get locked up, ain't it only fair he does too?! He's the bigger lug of the two of us, an' me, well... I don't even have me tucker bag! Now I'm without me bombs too, 'cause they went all _'splodey_... an' gone, and..."

You were overcome with disbelief at how the situation was unfolding. First, the man had detonated a bomb in the middle of a crowd of pedestrians. Then, he had used whatever information he could find in your satchel to locate your house. Then, he had broken into your house. Now, he was dissolving into a pitiful mess right before you, and you still weren't sure exactly what he was attempting to achieve through his rambling.

Perhaps you'd venture to guess.

"So," you began, unsure of how you wished to relay your question to him. "What you're saying is that you're a coward who's lost his bodyguard and needs a good spot for your game of hide-and-seek with the police?"

The man scrunched his nose and lifted a finger pointedly in request to defend himself, which you denied.

"Wait, wait. I'm not finished. So, was it part of your plan to steal my bag so that you could give it back to me so I'd let you stay here? I have a lot of questions, dude. Just start with that one, though - _please_."

He paused his pacing to consider your question before providing an answer.

"Mate, I grabbed you 'cause I've spent this whole day askin' 'round to find someone that mighta seen a big bloke wearin' a gas mask. 's not my fault ya up and ran."

"I mean," you breathed. "I'm sorry, but it's not every day that I run into someone like you right after I've nearly been pulverized by an explosive. What did you expect me do to?"

You sighed and lowered your gaze to the floor when you were offered a shrug.

"I guess what I'm gettin' at here is- I'm a criminal, yea. I may have killed a few blokes here an' there... Not no one that didn't deserve it, though! Not- not on purpose, anyway... B-but I can be decent! I went and brought ya your stuff when I coulda pocketed the money and tossed the rest, right?"

You lifted your gaze once more.

"You probably considered it."

"Well, _yea_ , but- I didn't, so-"

"So I should just... let you stay at my house rent free when I know nothing about you except that you might be a wanted criminal but, _oh_... you gave someone back their bag-" There was silence. "-So you could ask them a favor."

"Pretty much," the man replied simply. "So how 'bout it? Could ya use a... roomie, or- or whatevs?"

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head.

"Look, I appreciate you bringing my stuff back to me. I really do. So very kindly and gentlemanly of you. There you go. But listen- It's just... I mean, don't you see why I'm having trouble letting you just stay here?"

"Way I see it, you'd just be givin' a bloke a fair go," the man said simply. "Even steven, 'n all that..."

You lapsed into thoughtful silence, gazing past him through the window on the far wall.

"I'll make it worth your while, mate! It ain't sayin' much now 'cause, well... given the circumstances maybe ya think I'm no good, right? Just take my word for it. If- if ya let me hide out here a while I'll prove meself... Really! And if I don't-"

You met his frantic gaze with an expectant look.

"I-if I don't-... Jus' go ahead and dob on me."

Your head tilted at his proposal and you narrowed your eyes. He was looking at you hopefully and he appeared to be twitching in a bout of nervous energy.

You'd always been terrible at asserting yourself, but up to this point you thought you were doing a good enough job making your wishes clear to this unwelcome guest. As it turned out, you were failing miserably. The man was a criminal - this you knew. He had even admitted to it multiple times. Yet, there was something about him that made it difficult to consider him a real threat.  
In all honesty it was hard to take him seriously at all, especially with all the whining.

You decided then that there had to be something to this agreement that could be to your best interest. Truthfully, you had no companions so far beyond coworkers in the city - and of course your beloved feline friend, who was most likely snoozing somewhere in the apartment, blissfully unaware of the stranger inside her home. 

You sighed again, shaking your head in disbelief at the answer you were preparing to give to him.

"Okay," you said at last, looking away from his expectant gaze.

The man's face immediately lit up, and before you could say anything more, he lunged forward and pulled you against him into a rough embrace. You scowled when he pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek. 

"Oh, ain't you a real sweetheart! You won't regret this, mate. I'll prove meself! Really!"

You pushed him away with a sound of disgust, wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

"Do _not_ \- kiss me again, dude. That's strike one."

"Soz, just expressin' me gratitude," he shrugged with a crooked grin. 

You merely glared in response. He started to say something more but cut himself off when he caught your wide-eyed stare directed past him into the kitchen. He tilted his head before turning around to see what you were looking at.

"Rat," you said distantly, pointing towards the floor beneath the dining room table.

"Oi, how'd you know-"

" _Rat_ \- There's a rat in there!" you stammered. "Please get it-"

The man followed your gaze and jolted when he caught sight of the creature scampering across the floor.

"Ya want me ta catch him?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards the kitchen. You nodded.

"Aight-" He turned to offer you a smile and a thumbs up.

"Don't kill it though. I just want it out," you called after him. 

"Sure," the man returned as he advanced in a tip-toe towards the smaller intruder, which was making its way hurriedly towards the bottom of the oven. You looked on in mild amusement as the gangly man stalked forward, his gaze intent on his target, which had paused its efforts to escape to sniff the air. 

Suddenly he lunged with a labored grunt. After a moment of clamoring humorously after the zigzagging rat, he managed to snare it between his fingers. His head jerked towards you and his mouth spread into the widest grin you'd ever witnessed as he wobbled to his feet with his catch in his grasp.

"Cute lil bugger, 'ain' he?" He held the critter out to present it to you, as if you weren't already aware that he had succeeded in catching it. 

The creature squirmed between his fingers, letting out squeaks of displeasure towards its sudden incarceration. The man hobbled past you towards the front door and you followed behind, reaching for the doorknob. He turned to you with a questioning look.

"So, ya want me ta just, uh... toss him out?"

"Well I'm not going to keep it as a pet."

You opened the door just slightly and the rodent was released onto the doorstep to do whatever it pleased in its new surroundings. Part of you worried that it would find its way back in, but you didn't care to bother with exterminators and at the moment you had a different form of pest to attend to. When you turned to him once more, you were met once again with that grin that was becoming familiar far too quickly.

 _All that smiling must make the muscles in your mouth mighty strong_ , you thought with a chuckle. 

"See that? I told ya I'd prove meself!" the blonde beamed proudly.

"Wow, dude..." you yawned. "Wherever it is you come from, it must not take much to gain someone's favor."

"Actually, mate... back in 'straya... Not a lotta folks trust each other, so you're lucky if you find a bloke or two that don't wanna stab ya in the back - _literally_ ," he chortled. "Oh, ah... by the by, the name's Junkrat."

You exhaled a laugh.

"Seriously?"

"Yup! Pleasure ta make yer acquaintence, _roomie_ ," he beamed, offering you his outstretched hand to shake. You accepted the gesture and returned with your own name, which he repeated with a satisfied giggle before tightening his grip on your hand and giving it a firm, jarring shake.

You weren't sure that you were truly aware of what you had gotten yourself into.


	3. getting to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> getting to know all about you.......  
> well, just a little bit at least.

The man's eyes followed the porcelain dish as you scooted it across the table to him. It screeched to a stop at the very edge, just nearly making contact with the bare skin of his abdomen. He studied the contents of the plate for a moment before his questioning gaze flicked up to you.

"Izzat mine?" 

"Oh, no. Of course not. I just wanted you to sit there and watch me eat two plates of food," you said, sliding him a fork.

A single syllable of a laugh escaped him. "Cheeky sheilah, ain't ya?"

Your response was a fake smile.

As you ate, you took the opportunity to really observe the man sitting before you. There was something awkward about the entirety of him. He was angular and knobby - almost skeletal. In spite of this he was notably fit, supple muscles holding together a physique that otherwise seemed to threaten falling apart on him. You found yourself wondering how old he was.

You were never good at guessing someone's age by appearance alone, but in his case it was all the more uncertain. There were sprightly qualities to him - wide eyes, slightly upturned nose. Yet he appeared to be losing hair, and his gaunt frame suggested that perhaps he was older. Then again, some individuals tended to display evidence of life's effect on them more than others. He couldn't have been older than thirty.

Junkrat didn't seem to notice your lingering gaze. His fork lay neglected alongside his plate, face screwed up with concentration as he plucked the shrimp from the stir fry and piled them on the side of the dish.

"So!" he interjected suddenly when he was finished, slapping both hands on the table and leaning forward. "Whaddya want ta know?"

"Okay-" You mused for a moment, lifting your hand instinctively to hide your chewing mouth from view. "How about I start with asking... what brought you and your friend- or, I mean, bodyguard here to New York?" you asked finally. 

"Eh, we was just tired a' the same ol' same ol' back in 'Straya. Don't get me wrong, now - the motherland'll always have her rightful spot in me heart." He patted his chest. "'S a great place n' all - keeps ya on your toes... But sometimes things get all stagnant-like and sittin' around doin' the ol' aussie salute gets to be a real _yawn_ , yaknow?!"

"Ah, I see," you said watching him shovel a forkful of food into his mouth. "Expanding your horizons."

"Sure, sure," Junkrat replied, downing the mouthful with an audible gulp.

Somehow his answer didn't seem completely authentic. 

"Well, I can certainly relate to that feeling," you said, pausing to poke at a piece of broccoli on your plate. "Not to sound ignorant, but I don't know a lot about Australia. What's it like over there?"

You hoped he wouldn't catch on to the fact that his disheveled appearance was part of what prompted you to ask. It was true though that you knew very little beyond what you had managed to catch on the news, which mainly concerned the rather unfavorable nature of human and Omnic relations in the country. 

Junkrat chuckled dryly, holding up one finger as he worked to chew a particularly stubborn bit of beef. 

"Lemme just say," he said, nearly choking as he swallowed, "that I ain't the only bloke missin' the odd limb or two. An' it's like I told ya earlier... Don't no one trust each other. 'S just how it is. Other'n that I'd say it's a beaut of a place. Y'know, if ya like sand... an'...ah... heat an' all that..."

"There's still cities though, right? What about Sydney? It's not all a big desert, is it?"

"Well, nah, 'course not. Can't really be bothered with cities meself, though. I dunno 'bout you, but I've got reason ta believe people ain't as _civilized_ as they let on. 'Specially suits."

You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

" _Eh_?" The man furrowed his bushy brows in confusion before cracking a grin. "Well, I weren't takin' a jab at you, mate. You don't exactly strike me as a sheila that'd be a suit anyhow. An' I haven't known ya long, but I'd say you're alright so far." His shoulders shook as a laugh bubbled from within him and the grin only grew wider. "Unless you went an' poisoned this here grub." 

" _Damn_ it, you caught me red-handed," you returned, attempting to suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as he closed his mouth around another forkful of food. His eyes shot to meet yours and he immediately spit the saliva-drenched mouthful onto the table, wiping frantically at his tongue with the palm of his hand.

"That's disgusting," you scowled, averting your eyes.

"Wot- ... _Oi_ \- yer comin' the raw prawn, ain't ya?" 

"What?" you blinked with sincere misunderstanding.

"'S not actually poison, izzit!?" he gawked.

By now you were on the verge of laughter at his expression alone.

"I'm just joking. Promise."

He squinted at you before aiming another bite of food for his mouth, his steady glare never leaving you as he chewed and swallowed it. You were sure that the remainder of the meal would be spent like this, with a dense cloud of awkward silence hanging over the two of you.

You were mistaken. Junkrat soon wolfed down the rest of his food without another word of whether or not you'd slipped some sort of lethal substance into it. With an abrupt laugh he subjected you to a one-sided conversation about why he hated shrimp, and all the while he poked at the marginalized shrimp on his plate, contorting his face into various expressions of disgust. All that really caught on was that it was a personal thing.

Once your belated dinnertime was over, you opted to use the fact that you were tired as reason to excuse yourself from the presence of your new guest. First, however, sleeping arrangements would need to be made for him. 

There weren't many options considering your home was only furnished to accommodate one person.

You decided you didn't want to sacrifice any articles from the blanket collection you had accumulated over the years, no matter how useless they'd been for so many months piled up in the hall closet. A fleeting idea came to you that the bathtub would be the most suitable place for him - or maybe you'd just whip him up a bed of newspapers in the laundry room.

Unfortunately, even if such thoughts did occur to you, you were not actually this cruel. So, you shuffled into the living room with Junkrat in tow. With a sweeping gesture of your arms you indicated unceremoniously that the couch would be his place to sleep. It was a nice couch. You'd snagged it for cheap at a flea market back in your hometown. It did however carry a peculiar smell unique to itself wherever it went. You'd tried on multiple accounts to mask it with various fabric fresheners, but the smell remained or otherwise mingled with whatever scent you applied to it.

Surely then, this new roommate of yours - who you noted at each instance of close proximity smelled far from pleasant - could not tarnish this particular piece of furniture by occupying it for several nights.

Junkrat uttered something that sounded like "noice" and promptly flopped himself with a grunt onto the couch. It was amusing - if not hilarious - how his grungy appearance contrasted against the floral print of the cushions as he wriggled into them. The way his lanky body exceeded the length of the couch, forcing him to hang his legs over one of its arms, didn't help to make him look any less out of place. He didn't seem to mind though, and you found yourself spited by this. A small part of you had hoped that he'd complain about discomfort and take his leave. That was far from a realistic outcome, but you could hope.

You were spited even further when your eyes met his and he beamed up at you with what was probably a sincere smile, but in your mind bordered on a shit-eating grin.

"Mate, I think we're gonna get along just _swell_ , don't you?" 

"There's the remote if you want to watch TV," you shot down his friendly remark, pointing towards the coffee table behind you. 

" _Ooo_ ," he marveled, wiggling his fingers. "I get the telly all to meself? That's grouse... Usually the big lug hogs it all up." He giggled to himself. " _Hog_. Ah... Miss him already, the fat bastard."

"What's his name again? Hugh?" you asked, mishearing him. Junkrat barked out a single laugh.

"Nah- Hog! Y'know, like... oink-oink," he said, pushing his nose upwards with his thumb. "Calls himself Roadhog - Hog for short. 'Course it ain't his _real_ name - just like Junkrat ain't mine."

"Wouldn't have guessed it," you said, swaying where you stood in mild impatience. "So what are your real names, then?"

"All in good time, mate. All in good time."

You crossed your arms at that. "Oh, I see. So you'll sleep in the same house as me but you don't trust me enough to tell me your real name." 

Junkrat leaned his weight into one elbow against the arm of the couch, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he regarded you. "I just dunno if I'm ready for that sorta commitment. Yaknow?"

Your brow furrowed in confusion when he punctuated his response with a wink. Ultimately you decided you weren't going to humor him. It was clear that he merely found his own senselessness to be amusing; and to some degree it was. However, you had grown tired of the sound of his voice over the course of the evening and even more so the obnoxious laughter that frequently accompanied it.

It was no wonder really that his body guard had "lost" him in the most populated city in America. He had probably already caught a plane back to Australia. 

You started to laugh as you entertained this thought, but converted it to a sigh before it could escape you.

"Okay, then. Well, good night," you said, turning to leave. You paused when you reached the bedroom door. "Oh- and if you want, you can have a shower. There should be towels in that hall closet."

"G'night," Junkrat returned. "And ta." There was silence until you shut the door to the bedroom from the other side.

" _Oi_ \- hang on. Izzat an insult?"

You didn't bother to answer him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. They'll get longer. Also for some reason I had a lot of trouble with the dialogue in this chapter. I think it's because I was trying to decide how much I wanted revealed between each character during the single conversation at dinner.  
> Anyway......
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. working hard or hardly working?

You sighed as your body at last hit the bed, practically melting into the comfort of your mattress. In spite of this, as well as the fact that you were extremely tired from work and your encounter with the man currently lounging on your couch in the other room, you were hit with a second wind and unable to sleep.  
  
As you settled under the covers, you felt a delicate weight beside you on the bed and lifted yourself up to greet your cat, who had been snoozing underneath until she heard you enter the room. She let out a sound of approval when you ran your hand along her back and began to emit a rattling purr.  
  
"How was your day, huh?" you spoke softly. Her wordless response was a single blink of her yellow eyes before she curled herself into a ball at your side. 

You continued to smooth your hand across her soft fur as you closed your eyes and laid back again, helplessly alone with your thoughts in the dark room. Suddenly you heard the television flick on, the hum of incoherent dialogue reverberating through the wall beside you.   
  
Junkrat really was making himself at home, wasn't he? You waited for him to turn the volume down, but were disappointed yet unsurprised when he didn't. After some time you heard laughter that was unmistakably his. As if you needed another distraction from sleep.  
  
Part of you felt compelled to promptly storm into the living room and offer him a friendly reminder that he was indeed a guest in your house, and that you'd greatly appreciate if he respected the fact that you were trying to rest. A larger part wanted no further interactions with the man for the night. The latter inevitably prevailed after several minutes of grouchy deliberation.  
  
You closed your eyes and tried to block out the sound of the television by keeping your mind occupid with peaceful thoughts. Eventually sleep took you, but it was short-lived. For the remainder of the night, you were subjected to tossing and turning, waking frequently in a panic, forgetting that you weren't the only one in the house. The television never decreased in volume and the sound of it added a bizarre edge to what little of your dreams you could remember each time you woke up.  
  
Eventually you gave up on sleep altogether, opting instead to stare up at the ceiling. Maybe it was best to stay awake anyway. Who knew what could happen if you allowed yourself to be so vulnerable with someone like Junkrat under your roof? He could bust into your bedroom at any time. Slit your throat. Kill your cat. Dump the bodies and continue hiding out in your house until he no longer needed to.  
  
You sat up in bed at this thought, shuddering as you considered the gory details. Maybe he was lascivious, too - though he displayed no evidence of it in your interactions so far. Still - he could have been hiding the urge. He might have his way with you before he offed you. No - surely he wasn't that kind of person. He didn't seem to be that kind of person; but how many times had someone done something atrocious - how many brothers, fathers, friends and neighbors even, had committed ruthless crimes that no one who'd known them could imagine them being capable of?   
  
In the case of Junkrat, you already knew he was a criminal. What you didn't know was what kind of person he really was. Sure, he was amusing. You'd give him that. Maybe he wasn't right in the head. To be sure, you had every reason not to trust him. Yet somehow he had convinced you to let him stay in your house. You had to be either incredibly stupid or he had to be incredibly too droll to be completely threatening.   
  
You would just need to keep an eye on him at all times, if you could. You decided that you were going to call in sick to work the next day, as there was no way you were leaving him alone in your house for eight hours. You checked the clock at your bedside and found that there were still three hours until sun up. With as much agility as you could muster in this sleep-deprived state, you slid off of the bed and padded across the cold floor to lock your bedroom door.  
  
You were a relatively light sleeper. If he tried anything, at least he would first need to get the door unlocked first and by then you'd be aware that something was happening.   
  
Maybe now you could finally catch some greatly needed Z's.  


* * *

  
The blaring rays of sunlight spilling into your bedroom roused you from your slumber. You winced, sitting up to check the time. It was a little past eleven. The house was pleasantly silent, aside from the sound of traffic on the streets outside and the steady whir of the air conditioner. Junkrat must have finally turned the television off whenever it was he decided to go to bed.  
  
You stroked Spunky's soft fur and smiled as she curled tighter into her fetal posture, beginning to purr. Slowly you began the process of getting out of bed - you yawned, stretched, and sat picking idly at the crust in the corner of your eyes. Soon your feet hit the floor and with reluctance you made your way towards the door, but not before picking up your cell phone and giving your manager a call to declare your absence for the day.  
  
Of course, his first question was why.  
  
"I'm just not feeling too well," you lied. "I'm sure all I need is a weekend of rest."  
  
Easy peasy lemon squeezy. And T.G.I.F. You were especially thankful for the fact that you worked at a deli that wasn't open seven days a week. Perhaps Junkrat would be gone by Monday and you could resume your usual schedule. You weren't going to get your hopes up just yet though.  
  
You shuffled into the living area with coffee consumption as your first objective for the morning. As you neared the side of the couch, tufts of Junkrat's wild, blonde hair were all you could see jutting from behind the arm. You paused, stepping back a few paces to look at him, still in disbelief over the whole encounter the day before.  
  
He was curled inward, his flesh arm tucked into his chest, the other sticking straight out over the edge of the cushion. One leg joined it in hanging off of the couch, his still booted foot just nearly touching the floor. There was no way that he was comfortable in that position. Still, his sharp features were relaxed into a calm expression, albeit slightly smooshed on one side due to his face being pressed against his shoulder.  
  
It looked as though he hadn't taken up your offer to have a shower, and this disappointed you. He really did smell.  
  
You continued with a sigh into the kitchen and busied yourself at the counter. Groggy and grumpy though you were, the smell of fresh brewing coffee piqued your senses and lightened your mood just slightly. You took a deep breath of the aroma and smiled to yourself, reaching for a mug.  
  
"G'morning!"   
  
You nearly lept out of your skin at the high octave of Junkrat's voice sounding behind you. You whirled around with the empty mug in hand, meeting that ever-present smile from across the room.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He was leaning into one elbow against the door frame. One side of his face was far redder than the other from how he'd slept on it. His hair, you noted, had somehow managed to look even less decent than it had the day before. One side was flat, while the other was swept in clumps into dissaray.  
  
"'Ow ya goin'? Sleep good, yea?"  
  
"Yeah, I slept fine," you answered, not bothering to bring up how he'd unintentionally kept you awake nearly the whole night. "And you?"  
  
"Oooh, I slept like a baby, I did."  
  
"I'm so glad to hear that."  
  
Junkrat didn't seem to detect the sarcasm in your tone.  
  
"Say," he drawled, sniffing audibly, "izzat coffee I smell?"  
  
"Yep," you said, turning away. Somehow this felt extremely awkward, and you couldn't put a finger on why. Probably because it was far too obvious and you were overthinking it. What wasn't awkward about being greeted by a shirtless man you hardly knew whilst making coffee in your pajamas?  
  
" _Ooo._ " Junkrat made his way further into the kitchen, drawing out the sound until he seated himself at the table. "D'ya mind hookin' me up?"  
  
"Sure," you answered as you filled your own mug. "I mean, no. I guess I don't mind."  
  
You reached for another mug and made your way gingerly towards him with one in each hand. Junkrat drummed his fingers on the surface of the table, eyes following you as you neared. He reached with one hand to accept the cup that you were holding out to him, but you didn't release it from your grasp, which led his eyes to shift up to you questioningly.  
  
"I wonder how you're going to pay me back for these free meals and beverages. You know - since I don't imagine you're planning on splitting the rent," you said, staring down at him. Junkrat returned your inquiry with a wolfish grin.  
  
"I can fetch ya somethin' nice in return."  
  
"Oh yeah? Like what?"  
  
"I dunno - Think of somethin' ya want and I'll figure it out. Bet there's lotsa goodies round here ta choose from. Saw some nifty places on the street 'fore I ran into ya!"  
  
"Do you even have cash on you?" you couldn't help but smirk.  
  
"Nah-" Junkrat lifted his other hand and wiggled his digits. "But I do got nimble fingers."  
  
"Right," you said, finally allowing him to take his coffee. "But you're not leaving this house. You can't. Remember? So I guess you're just a freeloader for now. Or... maybe I'll just have to get creative. I do hate chores."  
  
Junkrat's smile faltered slightly, which only caused your smirk to deepen.  
  
"Mopping is the worst. It's practically pointless! Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy the coffee. When you're done I'll get you started," you called over your shoulder as you ambled off towards the living room.  
  
You settled yourself into the cushions and reached for the remote. As you'd predicted, Junkrat's smell was no match for the peculiar aroma of the flea market couch. Sure enough the usual scent, which bore a likeness to mothballs - or perhaps the general odor that most elderly people collectively carry - was tinged only slightly with the a burnt sort of smell. Add a dash of body odor. It wasn't so bad that you felt completely as though you could never comfortably lounge on the sofa again though, and that was good enough for you. The cushions could be washed when he left - whenever that would be.  
  
You cringed when you flicked on the television and were immediately met with the volume at its highest potential. Beneath the din you could scantly hear the sound of the kitchen chair grating against the floor as it scooted back, but Junkrat still managed to startle you when he appeared at the side of the couch, saying something that you couldn't understand.  
  
He plopped himself down beside you, coffee sloshing onto his cargo shorts.  
  
"Crikey, that's hot!" he tittered to himself. "Mind if I, ah... Join ya? What're we watchin'?"  
  
"Uh," you mused, keeping your gaze directed towards the television in front of you. "I don't know yet."  
  
You flipped through the channels, lifting your mug to your lips every so often to sip at your coffee. The close proximity of Junkrat's presence beside you caused you to feel wary of every move you made. Even your breaths were controlled, as if you were attempting to avoid getting his attention at all costs - like predator and prey. It was ridiculous how nervous he was making you by merely sitting beside you.   
  
You could feel the heat radiating from his arm a hair's length from your own, and the couch quivered slightly to accompany the restless bouncing of his flesh leg as he sat hunched and focused on the screen, slurping greedily at his coffee.  
  
When none of the entertainment channels managed to catch your interest, you settled on the news. A reporter stood in heavy rain with his hand clasped over his earpiece as he shouted into the microphone. The wind was bowing the trees behind him, causing whatever he was saying to be difficult to hear. A particularly strong gust sent him staggering out of view.  
  
Junkrat let out a long string of laughter at that, slightly muffled by his mug as he lifted it to his face. "Maybe he should take a breather. Looks like the bloke's _winded_ ta me." He followed his words with another giggle, slapping his knee.  
  
You chuckled lightly as the man struggled to stay on his feet, knees bent and the free arm that wasn't clutching the microphone sticking straight out in front of him for balance. Eventually when the audio cut out completely, the focus shifted back to the main news anchor - a pristine gentleman scantly resembling Clark Kent with a persistently arched brow and an expression that made him look as though he was uncertain of what he was doing behind the desk.  
  


_"Well, it looks like that's all we'll be hearing from Mitch for the time being,"_ he chuckled. _"Once again, it's urgent that we remind residents and tourists alike throughout New York City that we are still on watch for any suspicious activity that might be terrorist-related following an explosion yesterday evening in the central Manhattan area. While police are still investigating the cause of this incident, there are currently two suspects that are believed to have been involved..."_

A pair of mugshots subsequently appeared on the screen - one which was unmistakably the man sitting right beside you. In the image he was far filthier than in real life, his entire body caked with soot and grime. His head was tilted back slightly and drool trailed down his chin from his toothy, sneering mouth.

**_Jamison Fawkes_ **

Beside him was a behemoth of a man, countenance concealed by a foreboding mask with a snout like a pig.

**_Mako Rutledge_ **

_"Citizens who witness anything that might have a connection to yesterday's events or the suspects shown in these photos are urged to report their findings directly to the NYPD."_

 

You muted the television and turned to Junkrat, who shrugged his shoulders sheepishly when several seconds of silence passed.   
  
"Jamison, huh? That's your name?" you said.  
  
"Why, however didja guess it, mate?" Junkrat blinked at you incredulously before dissolving into a snicker. "Yea, yea- That's me alright."  
  
He turned to the screen, his lips curling into a tight grin as he regarded his own likeness. When the news anchor returned to view, Junkrat nudged you with his elbow and jabbed a thumb at the television.  
  
"Y'know, ain't every day ya catch yer own mug on the telly," he tittered in a low voice. "Gotta say though, it ain't me best photo." He accented the statement with an abrupt giggle.  
  
"I'll say," you said, sipping your coffee. Then again, it was the only photo you had seen of him. You wondered what he considered to be his best.  
  
"Oi- I'm insulted!" Junkrat inadvertently mimicked you, smacking his lips when he withdrew from his cup. "'Least yer honest though."  
  
"Honesty is a virtue," you said. "So the man in the photo next to yours... That's your bodyguard?"  
  
"Yea, that's Roadie. Roadhog. Pigface. He don't go by Mako no more," Junkrat returned, downing the remainder of his beverage.  
  
"I see. Hm. Good choice for a bodyguard." You considered these nicknames and wondered inwardly where they could have come from. Although in Roadhog's case it seemed quite obvious. "And I suppose you don't go by Jamison either?"  
  
"Well, nah- Not always. Really depends on who's, ah... Who's addressin' me."  
  
"Oh, that's right. It's a - what did you call it? A commitment," you chuckled. "Well, feel free to let me know when you feel committed enough to let me call you by your real name. For now I'll settle for Junkrat. Although, I gotta admit - it's pretty uh..."  
  
Junkrat looked to you expectantly when you trailed off.  
  
"Interesting," you said at last.  
  
"Guess I'm just an interestin' fella, ain't I?" he wiggled his brows and you scoffed, turning away.  
  
"Sure," you said, standing. "Sure, you could say that. Are you finished?"  
  
"With wot?" Junkrat's brow furrowed. You gestured to the mug in his hand. "Oh. Yea. Why?"  
  
Without a word you took the mug from him and brought the dishes to the sink. You soon returned with a broom in one hand and a mop in the other. "Time to get busy," you beamed down at him, " _roomie_."  
  
Junkrat stared at you in disapproval.  
  
"Sure ya don't want me ta do somethin' a bit less, ah..." he hesitated a moment with a scowl. "-boring? In return for me stayin' here?"  
  
You let out a laugh, waggling a finger at him. "These are my terms, Junkrat. If it's too boring, you can find somewhere else to stay."  
  
The man grouched in silence and it was apparent that some sort of plan to weasel his way out of doing housework was stewing in his brain.   
  
"If I were you I'd start with the kitchen," you offered in a whisper.  
  
"I hate cleaning!" Junkrat whined. You almost laughed out loud at how childish he sounded. You also noted that this was the first time since you'd met him that he wasn't smiling. It almost felt like a triumph.   
  
"Really? Me too!" you said, feigning surprise. "Good to know we have something in common."  
  
Junkrat narrowed his eyes and snatched the broom and mop as you shoved them towards him. He sulked for a moment, clenching his dirty fingers around the handles as he glared up at you. Soon he grumbled his way up to his feet and hobbled off to the kitchen.  
  
Satisfied, you settled back onto the couch and resumed flipping through the channels. A small part of you felt guilty having the man behave as your house maid, but at the same time you felt as though he deserved to be assigned to such a task. He was laying low from the law, to be sure, but still you were playing a part in punishing him for being a criminal, and this caused you to feel accomplished. 

You supposed you could liken it to community service. All he needed was a bright orange vest.   
  
Now you were wondering what kind of crimes exactly that he had committed. He had mentioned having a thing for explosives. Was he a terrorist? Had he killed people? Or were his crimes mere misdemeanors? You could ask, but it would be easy for him to simply lie to avoid getting turned in. You were honestly surprised when you really considered the fact that you had even let him stay one night so far. Something bad could have happened - but it didn't. Maybe he wanted to use you before he tried anything. He might have been biding his time.  
  
Maybe you would be the one to use him first. Perhaps once he was finished with the cleaning, you would call the cops after all. Better safe than sorry, right?  
  
"Oi! C'mere a tick will ya?!" Junkrat called to you from the other room, causing your train of thought to derail. With reluctance you rose to your feet.  
  
"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" you quipped, leaning on the doorway and smiling coyly at him.  
  
Junkrat admitted with chagrin that he had never used a mop in his life, and it was evident in the way he was sitting on his knees in the middle of the floor, scrubbing vigorously at one spot with both hands clutching the handle of the mop.  
  
He let out various noises of exasperation when no matter how much he scrubbed, skid marks of dirt still remained on the linoleum floor. You suggested that perhaps the dirt on the bottom of his boot had become muddy due to the mop water. At this his face lit up with clarity and he immediately yanked it off, exposing his single flesh foot, onto which a dirty, hole-ridden sock loosely clung. This seemed to appease him, although he continued to verbalize his disdain for the task as he continued working.   
  
Junkrat spent nearly the whole day cleaning the house, occasionally hollering to you in request for assistance. Once all of the floors were swept and mopped, you set him to work on vacuuming, dusting, and ridding your house of every dead bug he could find in every reachable nook and cranny. You really disliked bugs, but the dead ones were particularly unsettling to you with their stiff, tangled legs. Junkrat didn't seem to mind plucking them with his bare hands from where they lay and discarding of them. It pleased you to have someone else do something that you dreaded even thinking of having to do.  
  
Until, at least, he had the gall to "accidentally" throw the brittle carcass of a large cockroach in your direction. Your immediate reaction was to scream and recoil, galumphing backwards to get yourself away from its gnarled form as quickly as possible.  
  
" _Asshole_!" you blurted, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself.  
  
Junkrat howled with laughter at this.  
  
"Oh! You should see yerself, mate!" he cried, doubling over.  
  
You would get him back somehow, you decided. For now though, you offered a firm reminder that he wasn't off the hook for being turned in, and this caused him to immediately cease his merriment.  
  
Far into the evening he continued to work in relative silence, which you realized was very uncharacteristic for him. You felt somewhat guilty teasing him with the threat of calling the police, but you had to keep reminding yourself that he _had_ broken into your home and he _could have_ killed a lot of innocent people when his bombs went off in a busy part of the city.   
  
It was a constant inward struggle to decide whether or not what you were doing by quartering him was the right thing to do, or if you were making a mistake that you would regret terribly later on. You didn't want to get him arrested if he wasn't a viscous killer, but you didn't want to die or put the lives of others at risk by helping him avoid the authorities. Such thoughts swirled in your mind as you lounged on the couch, gazing towards the television without really watching it. Eventually, you dozed off.  
  
Some time later you woke with a start by Junkrat poking at your forehead with one finger. Your eyes shot open to meet his towering form standing over you with Spunky clutched tightly in his flesh arm.   
  
"Oi! Heya, lookie what I caught," he said as you sat up. "Don't 'spose ya want me ta toss this one out too, do ya?"  
  
"Don't hurt her!" you shouted, stretching your arms out towards the frightened feline, who let out a soft meow. Junkrat released Spunky into your grasp with a bewildered look. You held her close to your chest, caressing her fur lovingly.  
  
Junkrat watched you love on her for a moment before planting his hands on his hips.  
  
"Y'know, in the Outback that'd be good eatin'. Nice an' plump..." he remarked, eyes trained on the cat in your arms. "Just sayin'." You shot him a nasty glare.  
  
"If you even dared..." you seethed. "I'd..."  
  
"I weren't sayin' that I want ta eat the little buggar!" Junkrat threw his hands up in the air.   
  
"Why did you even say something like that then?" you nearly shouted, hugging Spunky closer to you. "It's not funny!"  
  
"I was just tryin' ta joke with ya... Sheesh..." he scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck and shifted his eyes away from you. You heard him mutter something unintelligible beneath his breath.  
  
"Well, you went too far." You placed a tender kiss on the cat's head and placed her gingerly on the couch beside you before standing. Spunky began to kneed at the couch cushion before settling comfortably into it, paws curled beneath her.  
  
"Are you done cleaning? I'm hungry," you said, brushing past Junkrat to do a walk-through of the house.  
  
It wasn't spotless by any means, but it was pleasantly less cluttered than it had been before, and there was one less layer of dirt and dust on everything. This was fine, considering you never really bothered with dusting or mopping yourself - especially when work took up most of your energy.  
  
When you were finished looking over his work, you grabbed your cellphone on the way back to the living room and offered him a simple nod of your head when he looked to you expectantly.  
  
"Alright. Good enough. So, how does Chinese sound for dinner?" you said, dialing the number for delivery. You would be sure to request shrimp in whatever it was Junkrat decided he wanted to eat. After all - the man liked joking around, so surely it wouldn't hurt for you to have your turn. For good measure, you requested that the shrimp be chopped up into small pieces so it couldn't easily be removed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter isn't too boring. I promise that there's more to this story than just these two bantering in Reader's house. That's all I'm gonna disclose though. Thanks for sticking around so far!


	5. monday, monday

The Monday following that first weekend spent with Junkrat was one of the most stressful Mondays you had encountered in your entire life.  
  
You had considered imploring your boss to allow you an extra three days - or maybe a week - off of work to give you more time to get to know your strange new roommate better before you would make the decision to leave him alone in the house. However, when you considered it from a realistic standpoint, it just would not work out. It had been hard enough to get a job when you first moved to  
New York, so you couldn't afford to lose the one you had.  
  
Therefore with utter reluctance you dressed yourself in your deli uniform and set off on your way to the bus station bright and early; and not without giving Junkrat a firm talking-to about what he wasn't to do while you weren't home, as well as what you'd do to him if he tormented your cat.  
  
"Not ta worry, mate. I'll jus' sit pretty 'till ya come back," he responded as he lounged on the too-small sofa, resting his chin on his hands and batting his eyes at you. "An' I won't bother yer puddy-tat neither."  
  
"I mean it," you said. "And don't answer the door. With your mugshot on the news, it'll be easy for people to identify you."  
  
"Right. I know that," Junkrat retorted, crossing his arms. "I ain't _stupid._ "

Suffice it to say that you were a worried mess during prep time at your job. Your mind was all over the place, demonstrating just how vivid your imagination could be as a plethora of worse-case scenarios raced through your head.  
  
You jumped when a coworker called from across the deli that there was a phone call for you. As a last minute decision, you had left your cell phone at the house so that you could check on up on Junkrat during free time at work to ease your mind. In addition, you had directed him to only call your work phone in the case of an emergency. Therefore, when you heard your name followed by "phone for you!" you dropped the half-cored tomato that you were working on and briskly made your way over to accept the telephone from your coworker's outstretched hand.  
  
"Hello?" you breathed, expecting the worst. There was a clattering noise on the other end, as though the phone had been dropped. A second later the tail-end of a cheerful greeting came through.  
  
"-eya!"  
  
"Did something happen? I told you not to call unless it's important," you uttered, shielding your mouth with one hand to avoid letting potential eavesdroppers in on the conversation.  
  
"Right. Right. Nothin's wrong, mate. I just wanted to be sure I'd get ya if I called the number ya gave me," came Junkrat's accented voice. "Y'know, case I get meself into a heap of trouble."  
  
You withdrew from the phone momentarily, closing your eyes in frustration.  
  
"Also, I'm bored shitless," he added.  
  
"You'll live. Be good, now," you said, promptly hanging up.  
  
You spent the rest of the work day in wary anticipation of another phone call, cringing each time the work phone rang. When it was finally time to clock out, you rushed out of deli, leaving the door chimes on the front door to clatter in your wake as you hurried towards the bus station.  
  
You decided on a whim when your bus reached your stop to make a quick trip to a small oriental grocery store located not far from where you lived. It was a ritual after work to endulge in some form of snack, and one of your favorite places to go was the oriental market. Mochi was a must-have. The squishy texture and subtle flavor had gotten you hooked from the first time you had tried it. You also enjoyed the assorted candies and chips avaliable at such stores, and were sure to choose a good variety, along with a few packs of ramen noodles.  
  
When you were finished with this brief shopping trip, you walked in a brisk pace the rest of the way home, plastic bag full of goodies rustling as it swung violently from your forearm.  
  
A feeling of both relief and dread washed over you as you climbed the stairs to your door. If there was ever a make or break moment to determine Junkrat's trustworthiness, it would be this - to see how the man would fare in a house that wasn't his own while you were away for over eight hours.  
  
You reached into your satchel to fish out your key, and a wave of panic overwhelmed you when you realized that you had left it on the kitchen table and forgotten to grab it on your way out that morning. One would think that having trouble with anxiety would equip the afflicted individual with an extra air of caution and preparation. It turned out that it only distracted you from what was important - such as ensuring that the key to your fucking house was not left inside, resulting in you being locked out when you came home later.  
  
If you _had_ neglected to grab the key, you mused, surely you had also neglected to lock the door when you left. You gripped the doorknob and were filled with resentment when you found that it was in fact locked. Surely _you_ hadn't locked it. It must have been Junkrat.  
  
_Of course he locked the door, idiot. What were you even thinking? Did you actually think you could trust him? You really are stupid._  
  
Such thoughts continued to muddle your brain as you channeled the sudden onset of emotions into your fist, pounding on the door. Several minutes passed, and there was still no answer. The first course of action that came to mind was to find the nearest phone and report a break-in to the cops. Then, however, a more level-headed side of you chimed in with a better idea - better, at least, in your state of mind at that moment. You gently placed the bag of snacks and your satchel on the ground where you stood and descended the stairs.  
  
There were two windows on either side of your front door. They were high enough so that you could barely reach them on your own, but conveniently there was a line of bricks jutting from the wall below them that you could stand on to open the window and climb through.  
  
You reached up and gripped the windowsill with both hands and lifted one leg to plant your foot on the bricks, followed by the other. While one hand remained white-knuckled and clenching the windowsill, the other worked to slide the window open. It took several seconds of effort for the old window to slowly groan its way open, but soon enough you pulled yourself over the windowsill with a grunt and crawled your way through.  
  
You were on your hands and knees with one leg still resting on the windowsill when Junkrat's voice sounded from above.  
  
"Well, I'm all for dramatic entrances, but this one seems a bit- ah..." he broke off into a chuckle.  
  
You lifted your head up and glared at him in silence as you pulled your leg the rest of the way through. "I was knocking on the door and you didn't answer," you said, your voice gradually raising as the sentence progressed. "Why wouldn't you answer?"  
  
Junkrat blinked at you, his smile fading.  
  
"Soz, mate. If ya must know," he returned, planting his fists on his hips, "I was on the crappa."  
  
"Well, actually, I didn't really want to know about that." You dropped your head, pulling your leg the rest of the way through and making your way slowly to your feet. "But thanks."  
  
"Eh, you asked," Junkrat shrugged.  
  
You brushed past him and checked the house thoroughly for any misplaced or trashed belongings, but not before ensuring that your cat was safe and sound; to your relief, she was curled tightly on your bed in a blissful slumber. When nothing seemed to differ from how you had left it that morning before leaving for work, you stood for a moment in the dim hallway and leaned against the wall. You weren't sure whether to be more angry at Junkrat for making you worry, or at yourself for overreacting. With a sigh you shuffled back to the front door to retrieve your satchel and grocery bag that you had neglected outside.  
  
As you passed him, Junkrat let out a snicker. At first, you opted to ignore him, figuring that he was merely amusing himself as he seemed to often do; but his laughter only continued as you approached the doorway to the kitchen, which prompted you to turn around.  
  
" _What_? What's so funny?" you demanded.  
  
"Erm," Junkrat choked down another laugh that was threatening to escape him. "Nothin', mate. Nothin' at all."  
  
"No, really. What?"  
  
"It's just-" he bit his knuckle, shoulders convulsing. "It's just- Ya shoulda seen yerself crawlin' in here- Lookin' mad as a _cut snake_ -" He couldn't contain it anymore and dissolved into a fit of laughter, cradling his face in his hands.  
  
"I'm glad you think it's funny that I was panicking because you locked me out," you said. Before, your anger towards the situation had been overshadowed by apprehension. Now, with Junkrat laughing in your face over your struggle to get into your house, anger was all you could feel - even if his joviality wasn't intended to be harmful.  
  
"Fuck you," you spat. Your face burned and you couldn't stop the tirade that was to ensue. "It's not funny. How was I supposed to know that you didn't lock me out on purpose? I almost just called the police. But, you know what? I didn't. I felt bad. Because I thought... maybe you're an okay person after all, and I'm just overreacting. And now you're laughing at me. You're trying to make me seem like... like an _idiot_ because I freaked out."  
  
Junkrat's laughter had subsided and he was staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. Before he could say anything, you continued.  
  
"You're a piece of work, Junkrat. And I have every reason not to trust you, too."  
  
"Wot-"  
  
"You smuggled bombs into a foreign country and just- just _blew_ them up right in the middle of a crowd of people. You could have _killed_ me. And then you pressure me into letting you stay here at my house! You're gross. You smell _horrible_. You haven't had a shower since you've been here, and who knows how long it's been since then. You told me that my cat would be 'good eating-'" By now you were so worked up that a knot had formed in your throat and you were unable to continue. Perhaps this was for the best. You clenched your trembling fists and turned away from him, unable to stand looking at the dumbfounded expression on his face.  
  
"Strewth," Junkrat uttered. "Well, I might be disgusting, but 'least I've got a sense of humor."  
  
"Right. That's great and all, but being gross and unhygienic isn't exactly something to be proud of. I can smell you from over here."  
  
"What's that even got ta do with me laughin' at you?"  
  
"I'm _mad_!" you shouted, whirling around to face him once more.  
  
"Well, good onya! I weren't tryin' ta piss ya off by laughin'. 'S just that I can't help meself sometimes. Ya didn't have ta make it personal an' have a go at me fer somethin' that ain't me fault."  
  
"What? Being shamelessly filthy?"  
  
Junkrat crossed his arms at this and glared in silence before letting out a small huff of exasperation.  
  
"You said it yerself that ya don't know much 'bout 'Straya. We're from two different worlds, mate. Where I come from ain't like here in the Big Smoke. It's a right _fine_ day if ya find water that's worth drinkin' when yer wanderin' about in kilos an' kilos of desert - don't really matter how long it's been since a bloke's had his last bath."  
  
"An' I dunno if you've noticed-" he gestured to the prosthetics that made up both limbs on the right side of his body. "But I really ain't exactly all _there,_ yea? An'- d'ya really want me ta say it? I can't wash meself proper without a bit of help. Now it's your go ta laugh, right? Well, have at it, then."  
  
Your gut wrenched in guilt as Junkrat defended himself against your insults, retaining a semblance of a smile all the while. Even though you were still very much angry towards being laughed at in your panicked attempt to get into the house, you realized that what you said had been incredibly unfair and uncalled for.  
  
Too shameful to find words, you dropped the bag of snacks and your satcel to the floor and retreated to your bedroom to wallow in the emotions that were overwhelming you.  
  
Without a bedroom to retreat to or a door to slam in frustration, Junkrat threw himself forcefully onto the couch, muttering under his breath and fidgeting restlessly.  
  
What you had said to him, you thought as you lay on your stomach across your bed, was true. He had almost killed you. He did pressure you into letting him stay. He was gross. He did stink. There was something else though that you had neglected to consider in your vengeful state of mind as you spewed hate at the man: he was a human with feelings, and it was quite apparent that your words had stung.  
  
Didn't he deserve to be told the truth, though? Didn't _anyone_? Surely someone had to do it.  
  
No - he was right. Both of you were from different worlds, it seemed, by the way he described his own country. The things you had said - he was probably already aware of, but had long come to terms with. You concluded with reluctance that it would be best to apologize. This was not before you dozed off, exhausted from work that day and the confrontation with Junkrat that your own mistake had triggered.  
  
You woke some time later to a dim bedroom illuminated by the fleeting sunlight of the evening sky. Spunky lay sprawled at the end of the bed, one paw curling and uncurling in idle. Some sort of frenetic-paced music hummed through the wall from the television in the other room - an unfitting reminder of what had happened before you had slunk off to your bedroom that only rekindled your anxiety towards the situation.  
  
Nevertheless, you weren't going to allow yourself to hide away for the entire evening. The television grew louder when you opened the door to your bedroom, and stepping into the living room, you could see that a rather outdated slapstick cartoon on the glowing screen was the source of the blaring music that filled the house. You padded quietly across the room to retrieve the snacks that you had left on the ground and made your way around the couch in a painstakingly slow gait with the grocery bag in hand.  
  
Junkrat sat slouched and focused on the cartoon, nibbling at the knuckle of one finger and pausing only to chuckle to himself as the characters onscreen hit each other over the head with various household items until they were ridiculously out of proportion.  
  
When he noticed you standing there, Junkrat shifted his gaze in your direction without turning his head and lowered his hand to rest on his thigh, drumming absently. He said nothing in acknowledgement of your presence, and you realized with slight remorse that this was uncharacteristic of him.  
  
"Hey," you said after a moment in a small voice that you hated the sound of as it came out. Finally Junkrat turned his head to look at you, but he remained silent even as he lifted the hand he'd been chewing on to offer you an unceremonious waggle of his fingers to return your feeble greeting.  
  
"Um," you started, inching closer to sit on the couch beside him. You lifted the grocery bag and set it on your lap, fidgeting with the plastic material as you grappled inwardly for what you might say to him. "I shouldn't have said that stuff earlier."  
  
For whatever reason you couldn't bring yourself to look at him as you spoke; but you felt his gaze as you stared down at your lap.  
  
"I was just frustrated. I was so damn angry I couldn't think straight, so I..." finally you turned to look him in the eyes. "I said some things that I meant, and some things that I didn't mean. Hateful stuff. And I'm..." you searched his face, wanting so badly to look away, but you wouldn't let yourself. "I'm sorry."  
  
Junkrat blinked at you before his eyes darted away. The hand that was drumming on his thigh twitched and clenched into a fist as he huffed out a single laugh. "Y'know," he said, casting you a sidelong glance, "it ain't me first time bein' told I'm no good. 'S just somethin' ya get used to after 'while, innit?"  
  
"What gets me, mate," he continued with a light chuckle, turning to face you, "is that ya even went an' apologized fer it. That'd be a first."  
  
You looked at him thoughtfully before shrugging. "It's the right thing to do. I was angry because of something that I did and I took it out on you. It wasn't fair of me. Even if some of it was true. So, yeah. I _am_ sorry."  
  
"That right? What'd you do?"  
  
You exhaled a laugh.  
  
"I'm an idiot and I left my house key at home when I left for work," you said. "So it was my fault that I was locked out. Not yours."  
  
Junkrat hummed in thought. "Eh, you're right. Can't be bothered gettin' in a tizzy over it. I ain't mad if yer not mad."  
  
"I'm not mad. Just..." you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I don't know."  
  
The two of you sat quietly for a few minutes watching the TV. Junkrat was back to snickering to himself at the humorous bits of the program and you watched him out of the corner of your eye.  
  
Did he really forgive you so easily? And whether he did or not, why did you care? Maybe you were just too kind of a person. Or maybe too afraid of conflict. This was all too puzzling. Not even a week ago this man had broken into your house, and now he was your roommate. What was worse - you knew very little about him, except that he shamelessly committed crimes and came from a lawless, cut-throat area of a foreign country. And yet here you were, worrying over whether or not he was upset with you for being honest - bluntly honest, but honest nonetheless.  
  
You reached into the bag of snacks and pulled out a box of mochi in assorted flavors. Sesame, peanut butter, and your favorite - red bean. You peeled away the plastic wrap in which the tray of treats was sealed and nudged Junkrat's arm lightly with it.  
  
"Well, I... I bought snacks on my way home," you said as he turned to regard your offering. He squinted at the tray of mochi and plucked one of the powdery morsels between two fingers.  
  
"Oi- izzat what I think it is?" Junkrat held the rice cake level with his eyes, squishing it between his fingers rhythmically before popping it into his mouth. "Yea, yea! Roadie an' I ate the shit outta these doovalackies when we was in Japan!"  
  
You paused in your effort to select a piece of mochi for yourself to quirk a brow at the man.  
  
"You went to Japan?"  
  
"Ah-huh."  
  
"Why? To blow something up?" you ventured to ask, which earned you an unwanted glance of the half-chewed rice cake in Junkrat's mouth as he opened it to bark out a laugh.  
  
"Wowie! Ain't even been that long since we've met and ya know me so well! How 'bout it." He swallowed before continuing. "Nah - well, not _exactly_. Some right beauts of explosions did indeed commence. But, ah, see - we was on holiday. Oh, an' what a rip snorter of a holiday it was! Shoulda snapped some pics, really."  
  
"So that's what y'all do for vacations? Just travel overseas? Where do you even get the money?" you said. "Or dare I even ask?"  
  
"I reckon you can figure it out without me answerin'. D'ya mind if I -" Junkrat looked to you questioningly as he reached for another rice cake and you lifted the tray towards him. "Thanks, mate."  
  
"So, is that what this is?"  
  
"Izzat what what is?"  
  
"Well, you know... you and your bodyguard coming here to New York. You said you were bored of Australia, or something. So, that's why you came here, right?"  
  
"Er... sure, yea, something like that."  
  
You studied him in suspicion. "Was there something in particular that drew the two of you to this city?" you said, eyeing him as you opened a bag of candies. "You know, of all places?"  
  
Junkrat averted his eyes and chewed in thoughtful silence.  
  
"'Course there was," he said at last. "Figured there'd be no better place ta lose me best mate and find a nice sheilah ta crash with."  
  
Junkrat returned the quizzical look that you gave him with an impish grin. Without a doubt in your mind, you knew that there was much more to it. You weren't sure whether or not you _wanted_ to find out - but you were certain that you _would._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I feel about this chapter. On the bright side, however, I'm getting closer to the parts I'm excited about. Yay!


	6. a real lovely sum

You stood sniffling to yourself in your stuffy bathroom, reflection blurred by burning tears. It had been half an hour since you'd locked yourself into the small, windowless room following a call informing you that your power was due to be shut off later that evening. You wouldn't be able to make the monthly payment until the next pay day, and this meant that your house would be devoid of power for at least the next three days. So for now you could only wait until the imminent moment when the lights would shut off, leaving the house in eerie, abnormal silence.  
  
All in all, it had been a shit day, and in the most mundanely way possible. You'd been yelled at by a customer and subsequently scolded by a manager at work, and when home finally seemed to close, the bus had came and went earlier than normal, leaving you to hitchhike your way there, which caused you to arrive much later than you would have preferred. The call concerning your power bill was thus the icing on the cake - rich, sickening, and unsavory - the adverse of the sugary fondant you so desired to indulge in to temporarily alleviate the stress that had accumulated over the course of the day.  
  
A rhythmic knock at the bathroom door roused you from your spell of woe, and Junkrat's muffled voice followed. "Still kickin' in there? I've kinda got ta take a whizz."  
  
"Just a sec," you answered with haste, filling your cupped hands with cold water in which to submerge your red, swollen face in an attempt to hide any evidence that you'd been crying. There was no stopping Junkrat from finding out about the power being shut off, but he didn't need to know about the waterworks. With a scratchy washcloth you dried your face and finally reached for the doorknob.  
  
Junkrat jerked away from the door as it opened and side-stepped you before staggering into the bathroom, fumbling with his belt. A steady stream soon sounded behind you much too loudly than you'd expected, and you flushed when you realized that he hadn't bothered closing the door.  
  
"I weren't meanin' ta stickybeak, but it _sounded_ like you was cryin' in here," he called to you. How? Had he pressed an ear to the door? You froze a few feet from the doorway, making a conscious effort to avoid the instinct to turn around and face him when you responded.  
  
"I wasn't crying," you lied. "I was - plucking nosehairs. If you have to know."  
  
The toilet flushed and Junkrat's belt buckle jingled as he worked to fasten it once more. Soon he was at your side, leaning too close for comfort to peer at you with suspicion, and you noted with disgust that there had been no running of sinkwater beforehand, which meant he'd neglected to wash his hands. Hand.  
  
"Izzat it? Pluckin' nosehairs? Fair 'nuff, I'd probs be red in the eyes too if it was me." He squinted at you, scratching at the stubble along his jawline. "Yea nah, you was definitely boo-hoo'in in there. What's buggin' ya?" He feigned a pout, pressing a hand daintily to his chest. "'sit me?"  
  
With a sigh, you shook your head and turned away. "You'll find out. Just wait for it."  
  
So later in the evening, the two of you were doused in sudden darkness on the couch as you watched an old western flick, and Junkrat stiffened for a moment before uttering what sounded like a curse.  
It was almost comical, and you would have laughed if only the urge to cry again wasn't weighing on you.  
  
"What now?" he said after a moment of fidgeting as you sat in somber acceptance. His puzzled expression was slightly unnerving, shadowed by the sudden absence of light. You lolled your head back and pressed your eyes shut for a moment as you contemplated, indeed, what now. The room was dull and blue, and if you were to be completely honest, the answer you'd give him is that you were going to bed to put a stop to this seemingly endless day.  
  
"Well, until I get my next paycheck, we shall be dwellers of the dark," you answered at last, raising your hands and clawing at the air between the two of you. "Unless I can convince my boss to pay me early."  
  
Junkrat attempted a half-hearted laugh, but his voice cracked and he promptly cleared his throat and slouched forward to rest both elbows on his knees. Normally you welcomed silence after the sort of day that this had turned out to be, but such an utter dearth of background noise in the house was off-putting and you found yourself growing uncomfortable. It didn't help that there already existed a certain degree of awkward tension between Junkrat and yourself. With the power on you could both at least be distracted from each other's company by the television, but now a conversation felt forced.  
  
The more you thought about the whole ordeal and how hopeless living in this city sometimes seemed, the harder it was to contain your emotions. Suddenly there was that prickle and the well of tears.  
You fought to keep your composure but a telltale sniffle caught Junkrat's attention, which had been focused in that gap of silence on picking idly at scabs on his forearm.  
  
"If that was a bet, you'd owe me big time, eh?" he sneered, tilting his head so that his pointed nose jutted towards you over his shoulder. His remark only merited a shuddered sob from you. "Oi, quit that, now." He choked back a nervous laugh, flinching away as if you'd transmogrified into something repulsive.  
  
You ground the heels of your hands into your eyes and let out a groan. "All I do is bust my ass at work, and I can't even keep the bills paid," you lamented. For a moment you sat blinking into the darkness that your steepled fingers cast over your eyes before a light chuckle shook your hunched form. "You really chose the wrong person to live with, you know. I'm barely keeping my own head above water."  
  
Junkrat hummed in disapproval at that, waving a finger at you.  
  
"Now, I don't consider meself one that's hard ta please," he said, "an' that bein' said, mate, I'd reckon you've got yerself here a right luxary _five-star_ hotel compared ta the ramshackle places I've crashed in back home. I mean, cripes, 'least ya ain't drinkin' yer own piss, right?"  
  
"Yeah, true," you shrugged before turning to scowl when you registered what he'd said. "Wait, have _you_?" The look he gave you was the only answer you needed and you shook your head slowly in disbelief.  
  
"Bloke's gotta do what a bloke's gotta do." In spite of the nonchalant way that he brushed off your reaction, you were sure he'd grown redder. Unless the lack of proper lighting in the room was deceiving you. "Tastes just like water if you really use yer imagination. Or, y'know - pinch yer nose real hard."  
  
"You really are disgusting," you laughed. "But I guess I'd probably die out there. I don't think I could do something like that." Junkrat's return was a snicker, stifled by teeth as he nibbled at his lower lip and leaned back into the couch to clasp his hands behind his head. "Be surprised what you're capable of. Never really know 'till ya run outta options."  
  
The smile lingered on your lips for a moment, but when your thoughts shifted back to the situation at hand it slowly faded and you chewed absently at the inside of your lip; a stress-induced habit of yours.  
  
"But don't you worry your little head 'bout all this. I'll pay ya a real lovely sum once I find me mate," Junkrat said, noticing the deep concern in your expression. "We'll finish up our business here an' since I'm a generous enough bloke I'll even split some of the spoils with ya. Reckon you'll be fit as a fiddle then, won't ya?"  
  
"Sure," you answered distantly. "Wait a minute. What business?"  
  
"Why, Hog an' me are gonna nab ourselves some gold!" In the silence that followed, Junkrat lifted his hand to cover his mouth, instantly realizing his slip-up.  
  
"Gold, huh? Where from?"  
  
"Eh? What's that? What gold?"  
  
" _You tell me_!"  
  
You narrowed your eyes when he immediately averted his gaze to the ceiling. His attempt to suddenly play dumb was unsurprising, but still you couldn't help your amusement - even if you didn't appreciate being lied to. When you let out an expectant sound and gained no response, you crossed your arms.  
  
"Junkrat. Seriously."  
  
He mirrored your pose with a stubborn hum, drumming his fingers on his forearm before shrugging. "Don't know. Slippa the tongue, maybe. Also me memory ain't so great so pardon me, really. What were we talkin' about?"  
  
"You must really think I'm stupid," you said, glaring. "Look, that was too specific of a statement for you to just brush off so suddenly." You couldn't hold in the chuckle that escaped you. "Please just tell me what gold you're talking about."  
  
Junkrat continued to avoid looking at you, but it was apparent that he was considering obliging you, though hesitantly so. He chewed at his bottom lip and shifted before finally speaking up.  
  
"Alright, fine," he said. "There's a bank - a real fancy schmancy one, right? An underneath there just so happens that there's a beaut of a stash - oh, mate, just heaps a' gold sittin' around all shiny an' unbothered... 'Least, that's what Hog said."  
  
_That_ was a red flag. How, you wondered, did they plan on acquiring this gold? People would no doubt be hurt in the process. Maybe you could convice him that such spoils weren't worth pursuing - or you could report the plan to authorities. Then again, despite yourself, the promise of being paid for your hospitality to the man was tempting. Tempting enough, in fact, that you were considering what _you_ could do to _help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really ashamed at how short this chapter ended up being considering how long it's been since my last update. It's just essentially an arc to more important things. I couldn't make it past that final paragraph without feeling as though things were dragging. **In short** , I'm hoping the next one will be a bigger step towards the main plotline. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. who's that guy?

You expressed your doubts about what Junkrat told you concerning his plan to acquire a "tidy sum" of gold to take home with him to Australia, taking it upon yourself to remind him that he seemed in no way prepared to break into any sort of establishment, much less a highly-secured gold vault in the financial capital of the United States.  
  
"Ah, but no wukkas, dearest roomie o' mine. Once I find me mate everythin'll be apples," he declared. "D'ya really think the two of us came all this way unprepared?!"  
  
"Okay, sure, but here's the thing... how do you even know where to look?"  
  
"I weren't far from where we was stayin' when I ran inta you the other day. Bet if I could jus' get out there... Have meself a good look around. Maybe I'll see somethin' I recognize. Who knows?" he shrugged.  
  
"I mean, I guess that might work. The problem is that you can't really leave here. Unless-" That's when an idea came to you, and you wondered why it hadn't occurred to you until then. What troubled you about this idea was that it would be an effort on your part to _help him_ carry out whatever unlawful plans he and his alleged bodyguard had for the city of New York.  
  
Whatever the plan was - he'd promised that there was something in it for _you_. And with how your financial situation was faring currently, it truly seemed as though your best interest would be to trust in his word.  
  
_What am I getting myself into..._  
  
"Okay," you said, snapping Junkrat from the thoughtful daze he'd slipped into. "I can help you create a disguise. Nothing fancy, of course. I have hair dye I've never used. Some clothes that might fit you. I know the area where we met _pretty well_ because I walk through to the bus station every day after work. So, we can go over there - take a walk around and see what we can see."  
  
You found yourself mildly surprised when Junkrat remained silent even after you'd finished talking. It was apparent that he was taking what you'd said into consideration. Finally his face split into a grin and he slapped one hand onto your shoulder.  
  
"Aces, mate! Knew I could count on ya!" he beamed, giving you a playful jab in your ribs.  
  
"Of course," you winced. "After all, if this works, I'll finally have you out of my hair." Couldn't get too friendly, now. Even if the two of you were managing to get along as well as you could so far, you still held a hint of distrust for him.  
  
"Ouch. An' here I thought you was warmin' up ta me."  
  
"I'm cursed with politeness. Even for someone like you." With a smirk, you brushed past him to make your way towards the bathroom. "I'll grab you some shampoo so you can wash your hair."  
  
Minutes later, Junkrat met your return with a look of unease.  
  
"What?" you said, setting the shampoo and hair dye beside the sink.  
  
"This ain't gonna work out, mate. Can't get me right arm wet or I'll fuck it up. Could prolly do it with the left one but that'll be kinda-"  
  
"You don't have to get your hand wet. I'll help you."  
  
"Come again?" Junkrat stared.  
  
Did you have to spell it out for him?  
  
"Just don't worry about it. I'll wash your hair."  
  
Junkrat tensed, seemingly caught off guard by your offer. For a moment it appeared that in spite of his usually outgoing disposition, that he would demur entirely. But with a boyish bashfulness in his manner he stepped up to the sink. He cleared his throat deeply when you came to stand alongside him, and a nervous titter quaked his frame when you pressed against him momentarily to bend forward and turn on the faucet.  
  
You lowered one outstretched hand into the flowing water and waited for it to reach a reasonable temperature, adjusting the knobs accordingly. When at last it warmed up considerably, you withdrew, casting a quick glance at the man beside you.  
  
"Here, lean over," you said. Junkrat uttered a hasty "sure," and bowed his head under the faucet. His height forced him to bend himself at a rather awkward angle to get his head into the sink and he reminded you of a vulture in this hunched posture.  
  
The water parted his blonde hair where it impacted, and spilled a grayish brown into the stainless steel basin. You weren't sure whether to be impressed or disgusted by the amount of soot, dirt, or _whatever_ it was he kept in his tresses that was polluting the flowing sink water, smelling strongly of motor oil.  
  
"Hope lavender's okay. It's kinda all I've got," you remarked, reaching for the shampoo you'd set beside the sink and unscrewing the cap. What you'd said was lost on Junkrat beneath the loudly sputtering faucet, but he flinched when the lid of the shampoo bottle slipped from your fumbling grip and clattered noisily into the sink.  
  
"Whoops."  
  
You squeezed a generous amount of the shampoo from the bottle and watched as it fell in an oozing stream to coil into a small pile on the back of Junkrat's head. A considerable timidity came over you when you lifted your hands to comb your fingers through his hair, and in turn he stiffened at your touch.  
  
As you worked the lather through his hair your eyes trailed down his back. He'd been shirtless since you first met him, but being this close up you were only just noticing how freckled he was, and how his spine protruded slightly at the apex of his curved back. You also now had a better look at just how severely his hair was thinning around the middle of his head in such an irregular pattern. Was it some sort of condition he had?  
  
Probably, you thought, he cut his own hair and hadn't had anyone to help with the parts that were difficult to reach. You'd done the same on one or two occasions, but had luckily been able to see a hairdresser to assess the admittedly moderate damage in comparison to what you were seeing here. Or maybe you were mistaken, and it truly was a bigger issue.  
  
Suddenly you found yourself really wondering what kind of life he did live back home. Obviously he didn't spend his days typing away in a cubicle, or anything that required an air of professionalism and frequent personal upkeep, for that matter. You had to remind yourself that he was a criminal, so it was probable that he had no occupation at all besides plundering and property damage, which you reckoned with slight amusement could be considered freelance work.  
  
You realized after some time that Junkrat hadn't said anything at all since you'd ushered him over to the sink. He was quiet and reasonably still for once as you massaged the filth from his hair, bracing both hands - the flesh one white-knuckled - firmly against the edge of the sink and tapping his fingers restlessly.  
  
"You okay?" you spoke over the running water, drizzling another reasonable amount of shampoo all over his head before continuing your efforts.  
  
"I'm all good, mate. Just hurry it up, will ya? My back kinda hurts." Junkrat returned. Suddenly he jolted back with a hiss, nearly butting you with the back of his head. "Sus-s-soap! **_Soap!_** Soap in my eyes! Ow, _fuckfuckityfuckfuck!"_  
  
"Jesus, chill out!" You cupped water in both hands and splashed it onto his eyes repeatedly until his expletives died down and he released a contented sigh, uttering a thanks as he lowered his head into the sink once more so that you could finish washing the suds from his hair.  
  
_So dramatic_ , you thought to yourself.  
  
When the water at last ran clear you turned off the faucet and left him momentarily to grab a towel, which you tossed nonchalantly in his direction.  
  
Junkrat rose with a groan to his usual height and turned just in time for the towel to land silently over his head. You leaned back against the counter, looking on as he stood for a moment with the towel draped over him before offering a thumbs up and busying himself with drying his hair. You caught yourself staring at the stray droplets of water trickling erratically down the terrain of his bare abdomen and promptly averted your gaze to the far wall when he yanked the towel off of his head.  
  
"I feel light as a feather," he sang, clasping his hands daintily and letting the towel fall to the ground beside him. It occurred to you suddenly that with his hair down he reminded you of a rabid, slightly emaciated Tom Petty and you failed at passing off your laughter as a reaction to his jovial declaration. Junkrat only shot you a bewildered smile before resuming his antics, and thankfully no explanation was warranted.  
  
You left him to flounce theatrically about the kitchen, reveling in the euphoria of freshly-washed hair, and made your way to the bathroom to collect the materials for the hair dye.  
  
"Alright, _Tom_ , come on over and have a seat," you said when you returned, pulling a chair from the kitchen table and patting its cushion.  
  
Dying his hair was a similar ordeal. He sat rigidly before you in the chair, seldom speaking aside from a complaint here or there about the smell of the lather covering his head, or about how he just couldn't stand to sit there any longer - at the irony of this statement he had to laugh before reverting back to his state of discontent.  
  
Once his hair was rinsed and dried, you were pleased that his likeness to the late musician had faltered, but now were faced with the issue of what to do with the now stark contrast between his fiery, bushy eyebrows and the deep, blue hue of his hair.  
  
You concluded aloud that dyeing them would look much too goofy, and both of you eventually settled on shaving his eyebrows off completely.  
  
"Eh, no worries, really. I've burnt 'em off plenty a' times an' they always grow back in a jiffy."  
  
There were too many times when speaking to this man, you realized, that you could only muster a fake laugh in hopes that the subject would die on the spot.  
-  
  
Already he seemed like a different person, the smell of lavender wafting from his freshly washed and dyed hair that fell softly around his face, unlike before when it had stood on end as if he were a bristled wild animal. Shaving the eyebrows had been a good call on your part as well, though their sudden absence made him appear bizarre to you at the moment.  
  
The rest of him was all the same, however, which prompted you to get on with the next step in your process of creating a disguise for him: clothes.  
  
By no means were you a connoisseur of fashion, but you did enjoy your fair share of shopping for clothes of all varieties from casual to just plain too flamboyant to be anything more than something to play dress-up in at home. Junkrat followed you into your bedroom and stood swaying in impatience off to the side as you sifted through your closet.  
  
You struggled to settle on what you'd allow yourself to part with, even if most of it had yet to make it onto your own person. Finally you decided you'd give him a pair of baggy corduroy pants you'd never bothered wearing, along with a T-shirt your mother had forced you to buy when you'd first moved to the Big Apple " _in the spirit of tourist consumerism_ " - which really seemed pointless to you since you were, after all, going to be _living_ there.  
  
It was in essence a feeble act of rebellion on your part to hand over the unwanted T-shirt to the criminal that you had invited - _yes_ , it was true - to stay in your apartment. Really you couldn't imagine what sort of argument the situation would trigger if ever your mother found out about your roommate, and worse, that you were acting in all technicality as an accessory to a potential crime.  
  
_Thank God_ , you thought to yourself half-jokingly as you draped the T-shirt over one arm, for being an adult devoid of parental supervision.  
  
When you turned around, Junkrat was sprawled languidly across your bed with his flesh hand extended towards Spunky, who sniffed at it before nuzzling into his palm, earning a chuckle from the man. He took notice of your lingering and his eyes flitted up to yours suddenly.  
  
"You right, mate?" he seemed to smirk.  
  
"Yeah." Your gaze was unwavering as you made your way over to the end of the bed. "By all means, make yourself comfortable," you muttered. "Here, catch."  
  
You tossed the shirt and pants towards Junkrat and when he tried and failed to snatch them from the air, they landed instead on Spunky, who immediately wriggled her way out from under them and vacated the bed with a thud to hide underneath.  
  
Junkrat reached for the shirt you'd given him and held it up in front of him for a moment to examine the screen-printed text on the front. "Cheers, mate." He lowered it just enough to peer over the collar at you and offer a wink before slipping it over his head. It was when he went to undo his pants that you spoke up abruptly.  
  
"Uh- What are you doing?"  
  
Owl-eyed, Junkrat blinked before withdrawing his hands from his belt buckle.  
  
"The bathroom has a mirror."  
  
"Right. Yea," he chuckled, grabbing the pants and springing to his feet. Your gaze followed him out of your room. The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind him was what snapped you out of the spell of embarrassment that had you staring off towards the doorway.  
  
You lingered in the hall as you waited for him to finish changing, and as time passed, you grew impatient. What was he doing in there, anyway? Checking himself out?  
  
Finally, out he stepped in the new attire, the I ♥ NY logo across his chest stretching ever so slightly with the fabric of the shirt by his too-broad shoulders. You also hadn't exactly taken into account the fact that he was longer than you in the abdomen when you'd chosen that particular T-shirt, and so it ended just above his hipbones - almost a crop top. Well, at least now he had a shirt on, you thought.  
  
The pants were too large for his lithe lower body, as you figured they would be. He clutched the waistband with one hand to avoid it from sliding down his thighs as he approached you, and met your gaze with a crooked smile.  
  
"Yaknow, I ain't so sure this is gonna work."  
  
You looked him up and down as you considered any alterations you could make. So far it definitely contrasted from what he'd been wearing before - the single pair of tattered camo shorts. The ratty, no-doubt smelly, single pair of shorts that you reckoned you'd throw in the wash before you let him put them back on.  
  
"These strides are kinda slippin' on me. Got somethin' sorta, ah... smaller? Don't reckon you wanna be acquainted with the, ah... ole fella down there."  
  
"What-" You stopped yourself when you registered what he meant. "Yeah, no. No thanks. Wait- You were wearing a belt earlier, weren't you?"  
  
"Oh- yea. 'S right." Junkrat threw his hands up and quickly realized his mistake when the pants inched down, threatening to expose him. He whirled around, grabbing at the waistband and hiking them up to his belly as he made his way in a stilted gait back to the bathroom to retrieve his belt from his shorts.  
  
"Just a tick," he groaned through the door with the effort of threading the belt through the loops of the pants. A few minutes later the door swung forcefully open, and Junkrat sashayed his way towards you in the now waist-high pants, planting both hands on his hips as he came to a stop.  
  
"This don't feel right," he said, smiling in spite of his tone. You considered asking how long it had been since he'd worn something aside from the cargo shorts. The visual evidence suggested that it had been in fact a very long time, so you figured such an inquery would be in vain.  
  
"It'll work," you said, gnawing a fingernail in contemplation. "We still need to do something about your eyes, though."  
  
"Wot. What's wrong with 'em?"  
  
"Well, _nothing,_ really. I'm just thinking, you know-"  
  
Junkrat gestured impatiently for you to continue when you paused to choose your words.  
  
"See, when we first met - that is, when I first saw you, the thing about you that stuck with me most was your eyes." Junkrat's thin mouth spread into a sort of prideful grin, mistaking your statement for a compliment.  
  
"Why, I dunno what ta say, mate..." he turned away for a moment with a bashful chuckle, waving a hand at you. When he was met with silence, he tilted his head to look at you sidelong. "Don't lemme stop ya. Go on."  
  
"What I mean is- not a lot of people have that look in the eyes like you do. You know? Plus... I don't think I've ever seen someone with yellow eyes. Such a tiny detail like that could throw the whole disguise off. Then all our hard work would be for nothing."  
  
Junkrat nodded slowly in agreement at this, waggling one finger in the air. "Ya got a point, there. Can't have me _dazzling_ eyes fuckin' everythin' up."  
  
"Sure. They're an... easily recognizable trait. Especially with all the images going around on the news. I think I have an idea, though. Just wait here." You padded down the hallway and disappeared into your bedroom, returning a moment later to offer Junkrat your solution.  
  
"Ha! A pair a' sunnies! That'll do it!"  
  
Junkrat took the sunglasses from your outstretched hand and that impossibly large grin of his stretched across his face as he put them on. "How do I look?" he spoke in a husky voice, one brow visibly quirking just above the frame of the sunglasses.  
  
"Not bad. Different than before. That's for sure," you said, dragging your gaze from his head to his feet. "Not diggin' the hair, though. Come hither, won't you?" You started towards the bathroom, beckoning him to follow.  
  
You knew you wouldn't be able to reach his head if he were standing, so you dragged a chair into the bathroom to make things easier for yourself. From the cabinet you produced a container of thick hair gel you'd bought but never really mustered the dedication to use regularly the last time you'd had a haircut.  
  
Junkrat stared intently at his own reflection as you took a generous portion of the product onto your hands to work into his hair. Despite his expression he seemed vaguely relaxed.  
  
"What if we slicked it back?" you suggested, running both hands over his head to smooth the hair against his scalp. He immediately wrinkled his pointy nose at the result.  
  
"Nah. Too posh. Ain't my style."  
  
"Right," you said, resting both hands on his head, "but isn't that sort of the point of disguises? To divert attention from who's hiding behind the look?"  
  
Junkrat began to nod at the truth in your statement, but stubbornly cut himself off instead. You backed off when he swatted your hands away, crossing your arms in slight annoyance.  
  
"Eh. Lemme have a go. Lessee.." he mused, wiggling his fingers. "How 'bout a 'hawk? Oh, that'd be ripper! Nah, nah- I know!" Concentration knit his brows as he lifted his flesh hand and began spiking clumps of his hair in a spasmodic motion. When he was satisfied with the look he created, he smiled coyly towards his own reflection.  
  
"That's more like it."  
  
"It looks about the same as it did before I washed it," you observed. "Here-"  
  
"Oi- what're you doin'?!" Junkrat protested when you ran your hands through his hair once more, undoing his handiwork. Ignoring his audible pouting, you worked to part his hair to one side into a sort of messy, overgrown quiff. To your surprise, it seemed to work well. You even incorporated some of the spikes he'd created.  
  
" _Now_ then," you said, stepping back. "How about this?"  
  
Junkrat's features contorted in consideration of this new look before bobbing his head in approval. "I'll take it! So, ah. Ya figure this'll be good enough then? Kinda on the verge of goin' apeshit from all this sittin' around."  
  
"Almost," you answered. "You just reminded me: As _adorable_ as that accent of yours is, the cops are out there looking specifically for a pair of _Australian_ criminals. If people hear your loud-ass voice while we're out and about, you're gonna stick out like a sore thumb - even with this spiffy little disguise we've whipped up here."  
  
"So," you smirked down at him, placing both hands on your hips, "gimme your best American accent."  
  
Junkrat narrowed his eyes at you in thoughtful silence before that puckish face of his fell into a sullen expression and he drawled out a ridiculously gruff " _howdy._ " You erupted into a snickering fit when his features remained sullen in the beat of silence as if it were an attempt at comic timing. You had to double over to compose yourself before facing him once more. "Please tell me that was a joke."  
  
"Fuck off! Ya can't expect me ta fake an accent the whole bloody time!"  
  
"Well," you chuckled, walking past him with a shrug, "then don't talk at all. Hey, maybe we can pass notes. If anyone wonders, I'll just tell them you're a mute relative." That earned you a frown.  
  
"I'm joking," you called a few minutes later from your bedroom across the hallway. "I thought you had a sense of humor, Junkrat."  
  
"'Course I do," he scoffed. "Wouldn't be meself without one. But I ain't fakin' no yank accent- _oh_. Oi, where'd ya go?"  
  
"In here. Look," you said, almost bumping into him as you stepped out of your room. You lifted a large old blazer you'd thrifted weeks before up in the space between the two of you. "The accent _is_ kind of a big deal, but I'm more concerned about your arm."  
  
Junkrat lifted his flesh arm up and shrugged feebly, a look of confusion on his face. You shook your head, pursing your lips against a forming smile of amusement.  
  
"The other one. The- the bionic one."  
  
"'S prosthetic, mate. Same difference, though, I reckon." Junkrat lifted the metal limb and wiggled the digits in front of you. "Made it meself."  
  
That threw you off guard for some reason. The man had unnerved you when you'd initially met him, but even so, the droll nature of his personality - or what you'd seen of it so far in his company - had caused you to underestimate him. You'd never really considered what sort of skills he might possess, aside from handling explosives. And he'd only given you a general idea about his life back in Australia. Sincerely impressed, you simply nodded at his statement.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yea," he returned with nonchalance. His expression faltered into confusion once more when you tucked the blazer beneath one arm and reached to grip his prosthetic hand and look it over.  
  
"Oh, wow," you uttered before releasing his hand from your delicate hold. "How long did it take?" You were scantly spited when Junkrat returned with a simple shrug. "I dunno. Barely remember losin' me arm."  
  
How could one forget such an occurrence, even? You quickly realized that things were taking a touchy turn, and being how you were, this made you uncomfortable; so naturally, you shifted your focus back to the original subject.  
  
" _So_ ," you said, shoving the blazer firmly towards him, "you can wear this to cover up your prosthetic. Of course, you're probably already aware, but the authorities are going to have people be on the look out for that sort of thing."  
  
The padded shoulders of the blazer, resting stiffly on Junkrat's shoulders, made him look somewhat like a member of the severely-dated New Wave genre. It certainly wasn't a negative resemblance, but in contrast to the way he looked before, you humored the thought of a teen with a sudden identity crisis who'd just splurged impulsively at a second-hand clothing store.  
  
It didn't help that Junkrat was visibly uncomfortable with his new wardrobe. You supposed that you couldn't blame him - he had, after all, went from going shirtless with a single pair of loose shorts to being dressed up like a doll in the clothes of a virtual stranger.  
  
If Junkrat _were_ a doll, you digressed inwardly, he could make a good counterpart to Cynthia from _Rugrats_ \- like Barbie and Ken.  
  
_Cynthia and Junkrat_. No - what was his real name again? You had to repress a chuckle to avoid having to explain such a stupid thought to the butt of the joke.  
  
"I look like a fuckin' suit," Junkrat groused before the mirror.  
  
"What does that even mean?"  
  
"The _worst,_ mate. I look like a guy with a stick up his arse."  
  
"No you don't," you laughed. "I'd say you look just like you ought to, considering what we're trying to accomplish here."  
  
"Yea? An what's that?"  
  
"You look... well, I'd say you look American."  
  
You flinched at the shrill bark of laughter that escaped the man. "Christ, I've never felt more insulted in all me life!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!  
> Here's a little sketch I did before writing this chapter to sorta help me envision Rat's disguise.  
> 


	8. trust issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the search for Roadhog begins!

The weather was suspiciously nice, you thought, stepping away from your door once you were certain it was securely locked - not that this was entirely reassuring to you now, considering the whole ordeal with Junkrat and how seemingly easily he'd managed to get in. 

At least your first (and hopefully last) intruder had turned out to be more aggravating than he was threatening.

So far.

The distance from your house to the nearest subway station allowed plenty of time for an awkward silence to wedge itself between the two of you. In spite of his height, Junkrat's limping gait was slower than average, leading you to conscientiously adjust your pace each time you found yourself out-speeding him.

"I bet you're glad to be reacquainted with Mr. Sun," you remarked, deciding at last that the silence was unbearable. Junkrat shot you a sidelong glance behind the tinted lenses of the sunglasses that was devoid of his signature grin.

"Sure," he shrugged, craning his head upwards. 

"Ever feel like you're smothering in all this concrete?" he said suddenly, gaze still trained on the sky above. His fingers twitched restlessly at his sides as he awaited an answer.

"I don't know about that," you chuckled. Giving it a little more thought, you bobbed your head in a lazy nod. "Well, I guess it does feel like that sometimes."

"It's oppressive, ain't it? Feels like a prison cell, is what it feels like. 'cept, y'know, bigger than just one room."

"That a metaphor, or have you actually been in prison?" you asked. "Or is that a stupid question?"

Junkrat lowered the sunglasses just enough to offer you a wink over the gleaming red frame and stuck his tongue out. You couldn't help but crack a grin.

"Should've known. Well I, myself, can only relate to such a comparison in a metaphorical sense. Being boring is a good way to stay out of trouble, I guess."

"Aw, good on ya!" 

You sucked in a breath when he followed up the back-handed compliment with a hard slap on your shoulder.

"Thanks."

Once again, the silence persisted as the two of you made your way to the subway station. You ventured to glance over at your "companion" every so often, and it seemed he was thoughtfully taking in the sights of the city, occasionally muttering to himself.

You decided you didn't feel like attempting to converse with him again. The doppler-shift of passing cars and the tremolo of cooing pigeons on the streets were enough to keep you content for the remainder of the trip, which wouldn't be long. And soon enough you approached the stairway to the subway station. 

It was crowded, of course, but the bus would have taken longer and a taxi was financially out of the question for the time being. So, when your train arrived, the two of you squeezed in - packed like sardines, as they say - into the smelly train car.

If walking by his side on the street hadn't been awkward enough, it was worse now.

There were no open seats, so the two of you were forced to stand pressed against one another by every other person occupying the train. The smell of sweat and underarm hung in the air, mingling with the remainder of the lavender shampoo scent clinging to Junkrat's mussed, blue locks. 

Every so often the train would lurch, forcing him into you, and without fail a light giggle escaped him each time. But his reaction wasn't so lighthearted towards strangers. On several occasions you heard him mutter several variations of 'rack off,' usually ending in a customized insult to accommodate whoever had violated his personal space.

It was laughable, but ultimately you were ready to be off of the subway altogether.

"I'm not stepping foot or _peg_ in there again," he declared as the two of you ascended the stairs at your destination. 

"Well, unless you want to find a way back by yourself, you don't really have a choice."

" _Pishposh_! Roadhog brought his babe in shining armor. Motorbike, I mean. If we find him, we'll ride with him. You'll have to share a seat with one of us though, mate. Much as I regret ta inform ya."

"No, sounds lovely, really," you lied. Ultimately you had your doubts on finding this friend of his - that exact day, at least. The city was vast, after all, and surely they must have chosen somewhere out of the way to take up residence if they were trying to avoid authorities.

But maybe it was hidden in plain sight. Somehow you hadn't bothered asking about details.

"Now then, the little mess you made must be about several blocks that way." You pointed towards the intersection up ahead. "That's supposedly near where y'all are staying, right? So wanna head over there?"

"Lead the way, mate," Junkrat returned. "Oi, maybe we can do a bit of window shopping on our way there, yea? Reckon I can show ya a few tricks on swiping up goodies that cost too much to drop a pretty penny on. Could help ya out in a pinch."

You shot him a disapproving glance. "Oh, behave."

"I'm bein' good, don't you worry. Haven't even thought of blowin' nothin' up - yet. Nah, I have. But it ain't like I could if I wanted, bein' bombless 'n all. You don't even know, mate. I'm loosin' my marbles over here. What's left of 'em anyway." Even if his tone seemed in jest, his crazed grin couldn't be passed off as a joke.

"Better start looking for them, dude," you stared. 

Several displays caught Junkrat's attention as you made the trek towards the site of the explosion, and each one had him begging to go inside for a closer look, but you insisted that it would be best to keep moving, lest the evening sneak up and leave the day wasted with no success in finding his bodyguard. 

Not only that, but you were sure that he would try to take something and you were frankly unprepared for any confrontation. Even if he was adamant that he could do it without being caught. 

What you did take him up on was a visit to a coffee stand with a colorful, chalk-drawn display featuring their newest addition to the menu: boba tea. Upon seeing the image, Junkrat jerked frantically at the sleeve of your shirt.

"Mate, look! Boba! An' they make it fresh too! Whaddya say? Look, we can pay for that, alright? Er- _you_ can. I'll owe ya one later. Well, y'know what I mean - 'course, I _already_ owe ya one. All in good time. Well, is that a yea or nah?"

"I've never tried it. Is it any good?"

The question earned you a genuine look of disappointment. 

"Is it any-" Junkrat started to mimick you but interrupted himself with a sharp laugh. "Get your arse over here an' see for yourself!"

He guided you towards the stand by your sleeve and bounced on his one heel by your side as you surveyed the menu. "Try the honey one if you can't make up your mind. It's good. Promise. You'll thank me later, mate," he uttered, leaning in and shielding his face with one hand. "Oh, and I reckon you should probs do the ordering. Too excited. Wouldn't wanna blow our cover. Half-sweet on mine, by the way."

Even if he was trying to be discreet, it was hardly effective. He'd pass for the excitable tourist, you imagined. At least that's what you hoped the surrounding folks would think. You ordered the same thing for the both of you and seated yourself across from him at one of the stand's designated tables, each shaded by a colorful umbrella.

Junkrat watched you intently as your lips wrapped around the jumbo straw, his expression unwavering until the liquid filled your mouth and you smiled approvingly. 

"Isn't it grouse?" he beamed. "Ya love it, don't you?"

"Really good," you said through a mouthful of tapioca pearls. "The balls are like mochi, kind of. I think I could have this more often."

"You know it, mate. It's the best." Junkrat noisily downed the remainder of his drink and withdrew with a watery burp. " _So fuckin' good_. Shocking I didn't choke on no pearls just then. Been a tick since I've had this stuff. I keep it in my canteen, y'know. Can't get enough."

You started to nod, passing the half-way point of your own drink before something caught in your throat and you choked back a cough.

"No kidding," you managed, eyes watering. "It doesn't get too hot?"

"Nah," Junkrat flopped one hand at you to emphasize his point before separating the hemispherical lid from his cup and gulping down the last few tapioca pearls settled at the bottom beneath the melting ice. 

Somehow this aside to the day's objective had turned out to be enjoyable. And you'd even found a new beverage you liked, even if you hated to admit who it was that introduced it to you formally. But even if your company for the day was questionable, to say the least, it was better than nothing. Though you didn't wish to get carried away.

You stood from your seat when you finished your drink and checked your watch, finding it to be much later than you'd thought it would be, edging on the late afternoon.

"Hey, we should really get going. We're never going to find anything if we don't."

"Fine," Junkrat pouted, rising from his seat. 

The two of you trashed your empty cups and set back on your way down the street.

Seemingly satiated with a belly full of his favorite drink, Junkrat no longer bothered you about shop displays and remained for the most part thoughtfully quiet. Eventually your surroundings became familiar and you realized that you were growing a mere block away from where you had met him more than a week before.

It was strange to think about, really. That day, you'd confronted someone who you were sure would end your life. And a part of you was still weary of his intentions.

Today you were walking the streets with that person by your side. Like this was some sort of friendly outing. 

As they say, you thought, life works in mysterious ways.

Before you could think to ask Junkrat if anything in the area looked familiar to him, your eyes locked on the site ahead.

There was the alleyway where Junkrat had left his mark on the city. Even if you didn't walk through the area nearly every day on your way to and from work, it wouldn't be hard to guess where the explosion had went off. 

When it happened, the haze in the air and the haste of your departure had spared you any details of what sort of damage been wrought, but days later when the smoke had long cleared and the city continued its daily progression, the wreckage was an obvious blemish - like a jagged erosion in the otherwise pristine building that made up the side of the alleyway closest to where the epicenter of the explosion must have been.

Yellow strips of plastic warded off any curious onlookers that might be tempted to explore what destruction had created, and to the side a ways there glinted something ornate that caught your attention as the two of you grew closer.

Three gilded frames, three faces, all surrounded by petals and bouquets of flowers. 

So, people _had_ died.

They were complete strangers, but still your heart sunk as you observed their smiling faces, thinking of how you could have been one of them. And even more so of the fact that you were helping the person responsible for taking their lives. Even if he hadn't meant to. 

_Idiot. Stupid idiot,_ you thought. Was it he who was the idiot, or was it you?

Junkrat said something when he came to stand beside you, but you were too far in your own head to hear him. "Oi. Ya 'right?" he said finally, nudging you with his elbow. The abrupt contact made you jerk away from him, crossing your arms. He looked to you incredulously, and in the moment his face made you sick with anger.

"Don't touch me," you seethed, pressing your eyes shut.

Junkrat threw his hands up and let out an exasperated chuckle at your reaction. "You're really worked up over a coupla randos?"

You opened your eyes wide and stared, struggling to muster a response to his insensitive remark. It was an immediate reminder of what kind of person you were dealing with.

"They were _people_!" You couldn't help that you nearly shouted at him, as if that could get your point through. "They're _dead_ now because of you! And that's not even the worst part! You've killed people on purpose. Didn't you say so yourself?" 

Junkrat choked on a sharp yelp of surprise and lunged forward, slapping his flesh hand over your mouth. He promptly shushed you when you began to struggle in his hold, squeezing you into his chest in what seemed to be a frantic effort to calm you.

" _Shhh_ , I know, I know, you were close, babe. Real shame, that is. So sorry. What a fuckin' cruel world this is," he spoke rather conspicuously to appease suspicious onlookers as he guided you away from the memorial. 

You struggled against his stiff embrace and attempted to cry out, but were met with the taste of salt from his sweaty palm pressed firmly against your open mouth.

He stopped to hiss out one last demand for silence, smoothing your hair delicately back with one hand to maintain his facade before searching for a place to slip away with you before you could make an even bigger scene. All you could manage to do in his grip was clutch his forearm tightly, digging your nails into his flesh in hopes that he would free you. But it seemed his tolerance for pain was high in his desperate effort to keep you from calling anymore unwanted attention to the two of you.

Seeing nowhere else close enough, Junkrat opted to duck under the caution tape and pulled you with him into the alleyway, nearly tripping on the rubble as he scrambled to escape into its relatively dim seclusion. You were released momentarily, but restrained and muzzled by his hand once again when you opened your mouth to let out a cry for help.

Junkrat stumbled over a clump of concrete as he backed you into the brick wall behind you. He waggled a finger disapprovingly when you began thrashing against him, working to distance him from you.

"Christ, will you calm down? Swear I won't hurt ya. I just wanna talk to ya about all this." You were sure you'd be bruised where he'd grabbed you. And his eyes were so yellow. He was the coyote, you were the lamb. He glowered until you quieted considerably "So, ah... about our _deal_ , mate? Remember that? I gave ya me sincere promise that I'll make this mess up to ya. I mean it. Just- Ya can't just go screamin' bloody murder like that in public," he laughed. "That ain't civilized, now is it? And you an' me are civilized, yea?"

By now your anger had dissolved into fear, and you could only answer with a teary stare. Junkrat blinked down at you when a tiny whimper sounded against his palm and slowly pulled it away. 

"What's a promise from you even worth?" you said, struggling to keep the welling tears at bay. 

Junkrat lifted one hand in front of your face to rub his fingers together with a wink. "In your case, cold hard cash, mate. An' it don't get no better than that."

"I don't think I can trust you."

" _Why not_?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe because you're a fucking _murderer_?"

"But I didn't lie about killin' 'em," he frowned, withdrawing his hold on you completely to cross his arms. "Already told ya I'm a clumsy bloke. Can't always keep track of who's around when things go kaboom, y'know. Just sorta happens sometimes."

"Right. Well, thank you. That's very reassuring. I feel much better now about... _all of this_." You shifted, turning towards the end of the alley. "And I wonder how many people you've killed on purpose, and for what reasons. Maybe I'm next. You can't blame me for thinking so."

Junkrat's eyed you intensely, pressing his mouth into a thin line. "If I really wanted, I'd have off'd ya _long_ before now. Coulda waited 'till you was sleepin'. 'Least then there'd be no struggle. A little less guilt, yea? Just a _little_. I mean, you've got a nice place, after all. An' I've never been all that into sharing."

Instead of answering, you began to fidget with the hem of your shirt, hardly calmed by this confession. Or whatever it was supposed to be.

"But, ah, sure-" Junkrat continued, planting his hands on his hips. " _Sure_ , maybe I might've had some sorta _devious_ plan brewin' when we first met an' ya kept threatening ta call the coppers on me. By the way, I sincerely accept your unspoken apology for that." He shot you a finger gun and chuckled to himself before tilting his head back, a thoughtful expression resting on his features.

"Now where was I goin' with this? Oh, _yea_ \- Listen, mate. Listen real good. You're all right. Maybe a lot all right. Maybe I even _like_ ya. An' lemme get this clear while the subject's hot 'n fresh: I don't kill people I like. And this little dealio we've got betwixt the two of us? We gotta trust each other, mate. It ain't gonna work no other way."

Of course you understood where he was coming from. You offered a feeble nod to satisfy him when he paused to search your face with narrowed eyes, but inside you were grappling with your own sense of morality. 

You wanted to help him.

What kind of sick, desperate person were you to even have to argue with yourself over whether your decision to help him was justified? For him to say he liked you was a statement that felt half-hearted, especially since the two of you knew very little about each other. Because of course he _liked_ you. He was living rent-free in your house. 

The promise of money, however, was what truly weighed on your ability to determine whether or not this whole mess was worth the internal anguish you were experiencing. It would be easy to have him arrested. Far too easy. Why, you could scream for help at that very moment. And if it was too worrisome to call the authorities on him while occupying the same space, you could wait until a day when you were at work and send them to your house. What a lovely surprise that could be for him.

But of course, in spite of all the effort to do the right thing, when Junkrat outstretched his hand to reseal your agreement, you accepted the gesture, but not without squeezing his hand so hard that your nails dug into his skin. 

"Alright! Aces!" he grinned, the hostile edge lost as he gave your hand a final, jarring shake. 

"Love your enthusiasm," he added in a low voice, gaze dropping momentarily to your too-tight grip on his hand. 

You refused to return his smile. 

_didn’t even shake with the correct hand so does this even count?_

__

"I reckon it's a good thing we had this little chat, eh? Now, whaddya say we get back to it?"

"Fine. But how are we going to leave?" you said, tilting your head toward the busy street outside. 

"Same as we came in," Junkrat replied simply. 

You grabbed the sleeve of his shirt as he walked by and when he turned to you, he was visibly annoyed by being held back. "Don't you think we'll draw attention to ourselves? It's a crime scene."

"Right. Clever shiela, you are. Usin' your head, an' all that. Well then, what do you figure is a better plan?" Junkrat said. You couldn't tell if this was sarcasm, but even if it was, you remained adamant about your concern.

Instead of answering, you pushed off of the wall and made your way slowly toward the end of the alleyway, searching for some sort of exit. There were dumpsters, of course, and several doors that were nailed shut by uneven planks. Nothing promising. You didn't need to announce your discovery of nothing because Junkrat called to you before you could open your mouth.

"Oi, lookit here. One of them, ah... upsy-doovalackies."

"What?" You turned around to see him standing beside a ladder that somehow you hadn't even noticed when you passed moments before.

" _Ladder_ ," Junkrat clarified, gesturing towards the thing. "Might not get us out, but up is better than nothing, don'tcha reckon?"

"Seems dangerous," you said as you approached him, craning your head as your gaze followed the ladder's height. "What if someone saw us up there, anyway?"

"Scared of heights or somethin', mate?" he sneered, leaning in.

"I don't know. I've never been real high." You broke off into a chuckle at that. "I mean, I've never really been up high. Not even in a plane."

"No worries. You can hold my hand if you're frightened. Wouldn't wanna make a damsel in distress of ya," Junkrat remarked, lifting his hand and subsequently waggling his fingers to offer it to you.

You scoffed at the antic and gestured to the ladder. "After you. Careful though. It looks eroded. But if it falls, well... I still get my money, I guess. Unless they want you alive." You returned his glare with a wink, smirking as he approached the ladder and gripped both sides of it before pulling on it several times to ensure its stability.

"Soz, mate, looks like you won't be getting rid of me that easily. She's apples."

"From the looks of it down here, sure. Tell me more about it when you get to the top."

"Aye-aye," Junkrat offered you a salute and hoisted himself up onto the first step with a grunt.

You watched in scorn as he scaled the ladder with relative ease in spite of the peg leg. He paused when he reached the halfway point minutes later and twisted his upper body around to grin down at you. The awkward position caused him to wobble and he tensed, gripping the ladder tightly with both hands.

"Uh-oh," you called up to him. "Careful, now."

" _Piss off_." He lost his footing when he ventured to offer you a dismissive wave over his shoulder and let out a groan of effort as he worked to pull himself back up. You couldn't help the laugh that burst from your tightly pursed lips.

" _Oi!_ " Junkrat exclaimed when his boot was once again planted firmly on the step. "Are you coming, or are you hangin' back ta catch me if I fall? _My hero_!"

With a sigh, you joined him. The metal was rough with rust and your foot slipped multiple times on the narrow steps as you made your way up, fighting the urge to glance down at the ground below. 

When at last you reached the top, you started with a gasp when Junkrat leaned over the edge to offer you a hand and a shit-eating grin. In spite of your urge to slap it away, you gripped his hand and allowed him to hoist you up with a grunt.

You wormed your hand quickly from his grasp once you were up and leaned over to brace both hands on your knees. It felt as though someone had knocked the wind from you, and as it turned out, even walking nearly every day from work to the bus stop wasn't enough to suffice for an active lifestyle.

"Get a load of this view, wouldja?" Junkrat called to you from the other side of the rooftop. "It's a fuckin' beaut!"

With an even bigger sigh, you made your way over to his side. The building had been a lot taller than you'd thought. It was like standing near the canopy of the concrete jungle. Various arrays of rooftops were laid out before you among the even taller buildings jutting upwards, and below cars and people made their way through the gridded streets like the automated toys you'd seen advertised on TV.

Beyond, the setting sun cast the world in a haze of orange as it slipped below on the horizon. 

"I hate the city, but bein' up above everythin' like this never gets old," Junkrat spoke beside you, dissolving in a sigh of contentment. 

"It's really beautiful. I've never done anything like this," you admitted.

From the periphery of your view, it looked like Junkrat turned to smile at you, but you remained facing forward, eventually stepping closer to the edge to rest one knee on the concrete wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop.

"Makes ya think a bit, doesn't it? Like, the world's so fuckin' _big_ after all."

"The world _is_ big. You've been to enough places, so wouldn't you know that already?" you smirked, leaning over the edge to have a look at how far down the ground was.

"Nah, nah, _yea_ \- I know the world's big. I'm just _saying_ ," you heard Junkrat's voice come closer as he joined you on the edge of the building. "Kinda opens your eyes a bit, I guess. _Crikey_ , that's a long way down, innit?"

You nodded your head in agreement before pushing away from the edge when the awareness of how high you actually were started to make you dizzy. 

"What makes you hate it?" you said, your gaze raking over the surrounding rooftops. "The crowds? The lack of vegetation?" 

"It's just a big playground for tall poppies 'n pollies 'n suits, that's all," Junkrat answered over his shoulder before leaning far over the edge, which made you wince. "Coppers too. Can't ever blow nothin' up without folks throwin' a wobbly neither. Sure, ya gotta work for your fun in the bush. But that's okey-dokey with me, 'cause fun means doing what I _want_ without gettin' thrown in the divvy van."

"And I imagine fun is killing people too, right? Or is that just kind of a side effect for your kind of fun?"

Your question hung in the air for several moments as he continued to survey the streets below with a slow turn of his head this way and that. Eventually he stood up to his full height to face you and offered you a shrug.

"I just don't get it. How can you be so- nonchalant? You've killed people. Really, really _killed_ people. How can you just- shrug something like that off? I can't even kill a damn _bug_ on _accident_ without feeling terrible about it."

You made your way over to a nearby concrete platform to sit down and Junkrat soon followed, settling closer than you would have preferred by your side.

He let out a chuckle as he considered what you'd said. "It ain't exactly the lifestyle I chose for meself. It's kinda just how things are back home. Gets a bit easier each time though, 'least depending on who it is. Never killed an ankle-biter - erm, kid, see, but it'd keep me up at night if I ever did."

"I guess that makes you a good person after all," you said, staring straight ahead. 

"'How kind of you to say so," Junkrat cooed, placing a hand daintily on his chest. "Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, that."

"I'm sure. Poor you."

You lowered your gaze to your feet in hesitation. Did you really want to know more about him? How does one ask someone: _So, how did you get started killing people? When did it get easier?_

"Junkrat," you began in question, tilting your head only slightly in his direction, but keeping your gaze locked on your shoes. 

"Yea?"

"Tell me more about Australia. Not a history lesson or anything. I know about the fallout." Suddenly very interested to hear what he might say, you turned to him, looking at him expectantly. "Tell me about you. Why you... do what you do, exactly."

The request seemed to make him uneasy, and he stiffened, his expression one of reservation. 

"D'you really know about it? Or just what ya see on the telly?" 

You could only shrug weakly, not completely sure what he meant. 

Junkrat swallowed a mouthful of saliva audibly and his eyes shifted back towards the setting sun.

"I druther not talk about it," he said quietly.

"You don't have to," you turned to face forward once more and noted that he seemed less on edge being devoid of your direct attention. 

"Maybe remind me some other time."

"Sure."

"We could talk about you instead - if you fancy it, mate. How about it? Can you confide in a cold-blooded _killer_ such as meself? I'm more curious than I am a therapist, mind."

Now it was your turn to be uneasy. But nevertheless you obliged him.

"I don't know. I just - _exist_. But I'm not exactly doing what I'd like to be doing. What I want to do is something meaningful," you said. "But I work at a deli. All I am is a slave to the food industry. It's a truly riveting life I lead, I know."

"But, you are doin' somethin' meaningful."

"What do you mean?" Your brow knit in genuine confusion.

"You're helping me! Y'know, you might consider it an honor, really. Not everyone gets ta be part of a plan masterminded by yours truly."

Junkrat's attempt to reassure you, whether or not it was meant in jest, fell flat with your expression.

"Not convincing, eh? Well, if that ain't enough, I reckon you'll find that ego of yours stroked nicely once I give you your payment an' you can blow - er - _donate_ it ta some _charity_. Or mayhaps make one homeless bloke's lucky day."

"Oh, yes," you said, resting your head on your hand to look at him crookedly. "I think that sounds rather ideal. Help a criminal rob the Federal Reserve just so I can get some money to hand over to the less-fortunate."

"Right, right. Think of it as, ah... well, you'll be sorta like that one bloke. Y'know, the one that takes from the poor and gives to the rich. Other way 'round."

"Robin Hood," you laughed. "I see your point. I do. But when I said I want to do something meaningful, I don't just mean giving hand-outs to people that need them. I'm thinking more of something where I'd be actively doing something for others. Something that really means something."

"Wot- but money solves every problem, don't it?" Junkrat's face was so twisted with confusion that it was almost too comical to take him seriously. You just shook your head.

"I wish," you said. "I mean, I guess it does. But acquiring it is a problem in itself."

"If you go about it the boring way, then _yea_." 

"Sorry I can't be as cool as you, Mr. Lawless. It's not my fault I'm just a simple gal from the country trying to make ends meet." You turned your nose up at him and flipped your hair dramatically.

"Yea? Well I'm sorry I'm just a simple bloke from the bush." Junkrat made a show of mimicking your gesture. "With a criminal record, sure, but you could say I'm just livin' me best life." You couldn't be insulted by how goofy he looked, especially with the sunglasses slipping crookedly down his nose. Instead of righting them, he plucked them off with one hand.

"Awh, but d'ya really think I'm cool?"

"No." You crossed your arms and leaned in to punctuate your response.

"Fair 'nuff. I'm too hot to be cool," he snickered at his own quip. “So, the Big Smoke ain't really home, eh?"

"Not really," you said, gazing thoughtfully past him. "I came here to follow my dreams. But they seem to be escaping me, and I'm more lost than anything."

Junkrat blinked at you incredulously. "That's real deep, mate. Tell me more."

His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but even so you couldn't help but give in to the temptation to vent to a listening ear. With reservation, you continued.

"Don't get me wrong, I love the little town I'm from. It's cozy. Scenic. Everyone is friendly, for the most part. At least, they pretend to be. But I just felt - so... stagnant. And I felt like I'd never make anything of myself. Anything that would impress anyone, that is. Originally, I... I wanted to be an artist. But it just wasn't raking anything in. And it didn't help that anyone I told of my dream would just laugh. So, I thought: let's aim higher. Let's do something really meaningful. I'll go to New-fucking-York and blow these assholes out of the water when I get myself a diploma and make something great of myself. They really aren't friendly. No wonder I couldn't stand to be there. Somehow I still miss it, though. And, wow. I'm sorry. I know you probably don't really care about any of that."

"Too right. Didn't catch a word," Junkrat returned, digging in his ear with a pinkie. For whatever reason, that stung. You felt humiliated for pouring your heart out so suddenly, but even more so when you realized that he noticed your attempt to repress the onset of emotion that was overcoming you.

"I was just pullin' your leg, mate. You really are a sook, ain't ya?"

"What does that mean?" you sniffed, blinking away the prickle of tears. "A crybaby? Then yes, I probably am."

"That's one definition. Not that it ain't okay ta let it out every now an' then, mind you. Figured maybe we were on the same page here, though."

"Sorry," you said simply. All of the sudden things were unbearably awkward. Did that even warrant an apology? You were mentally slapping yourself.

"You sure have heaps of apologies to offer to a lowly criminal such as meself," Junkrat smirked. It was too late to shrug it off like always. 

"Shut up. I'm overwhelmed, that's all."

Junkrat failed to stifle his laughter at that. "That's a good one. I oughtta use that some time. ' _I'm overwhelmed_.'" He imitated you in a high-pitched voice, dissolving again into laughter, muffled by one hand.

"It's not funny. Why are you making fun of me?"

Junkrat composed himself, sitting up straight to look at you. Somehow this new demeanor was less preferable. It must have been his expression, which bordered on a glare. Or so it seemed in this sensitive state you'd slipped into.

"What, ya want me ta kiss arse just 'cause you're helping me out? Soz, mate, didn't reckon that was part of our terms."

"It's not," you said. "Sorry. I mean, _no_. No, I'm not sorry."

"That's the way," Junkrat gave you a smile. "Y'know something? There's gotta be a reason for all this. You coming here to the Big Smoke from the country - me makin' my merry way over from Straya. Our grand meeting, which almost landed me behind bars. But - didn't." He paused to wink. "It's gotta be fate. Maybe _something meaningful_ ain't what you're destined for after all. Maybe - once you get your paws on the goodies, you'll see just what sorta life a criminal like moi has to offer for a sook like yourself. And then I reckon you'll be beggin' ta join me an' Roadie on our glorious escapades. By the way, mate, if you really wanted to, it's half a yes. Just gotta warm up ole Hoggie to the idea. And of course we'll just have to see how well _Baby's First Robbery_ pans out."

By the time Junkrat had said his piece, you were staring so intently that you could feel the strain of your furrowed brow. You weren't even sure if you had heard him correctly, and it took a good minute to make sense of what he'd babbled to you.

"Are you trying to turn me on to a life of crime?" you said so slowly that Junkrat couldn't help but bark out a laugh. 

"Mate, I'm extending my hand most cordially for you ta be part of our little plan for this city. And who knows! If you're good 'nuff, maybe you can tag along for the rest of the world tour. What's that saying again? Two's a party? Three's a crowd?"

"Junkrat, you don't actually think-" you had to pause to collect your thoughts, which were scattered by this impossible request. "You don't actually think I'm capable of doing something like that, do you? I mean - shoplifting is one thing... One thing that I... could never do. But the Federal Reserve? I thought I was just letting you stay with me until you found your bodyguard!"

"And don't get me wrong! Your hospitality has been most appreciated. But, listen. I've got a hunch, right? I've got a hunch that _you_ -" he pointed his finger inches from your nose, leaning uncomfortably close. "could use some fun in your life ta help loosen up a bit! An' never have I ever been wrong when a hunch I do follow."

"But you just said I was a sook, or whatever. And what makes you think I'd even want to do it? What makes you think _I_ would think that robbing a bank is fun? Or that I could even pull it off?"

A grin stretched Junkrat's thin lips and he lifted a hand to tap his chin with one finger. "Just a hunch. Think about it. And while you're thinkin', I'll take a look 'round an' see if I can't find another ladder somewhere about."

"It's going to take me a lot longer than that to make that decision, Junkrat."

"Well, seems we're not within cooee of findin' my pal this day, so why don't we head on home and you can sleep on it?" he returned over his shoulder, heading towards the edge of the rooftop. "Unless you decide sooner."

_"head on home"_

_He says that like my house is his, too._

Feeling too antsy to sit, you stood and made your way around the perimeter yourself, searching for any trace of an alternative way down. 

_No_ should have been a satisfactory answer, but of course Junkrat had to be persistent. He thought he was a lot more clever than he really was - that was it. How did _he_ know what you needed? How did some stranger know what was good for you?

Was he even a stranger anymore at this point? Surely the two of you weren't friends. This was all just business. A big favor. It wasn't your fault he didn't know when to stop running his mouth. It also wasn't your fault that he made you laugh on occasion. Maybe you'd work on that. It would be your own feeble attempt to resist the charm that masked what he really was, which was a no-good criminal. Surely he didn't really think he could convince you to be anything like him.

He was too busy lurking at the edge of the building to notice that you'd stopped looking altogether and had begun to stare in his direction. It was all too surreal. 

He limped casually along without a care in the world, mindless it seemed of the mental turmoil he'd brought upon you. But he could in fact have been full aware of it. Maybe it was your scorn but he seemed to be swelled with pride - like he knew something you didn't. Wearing your clothes and full of food that you had provided. Rested on your couch. Part of you wanted to clock him right in the jaw. Then perhaps he'd be too sore to shoot that smile of his your way for a good while.

And yet, you realized, you couldn't help that there was something endearing about him. It had to be the constant jokes, and that uncontrollable laughter. You always admired a good sense of humor. 

_No_ \- you were just being silly. You knew it was only loneliness that made you feel any type of way towards someone like him. Before all of this, when had you last spent time with anyone outside of work? Or anyone who wasn't a cat - though you did love Spunky's company.

After all, Junkrat was beyond full of himself. In addition, he was unhygienic, loud, and not to mention dangerous - droll personality be damned. You couldn't let yourself get too comfortable around him. For all you knew, he was waiting for the right moment to take advantage of you - and there was a number of ways you imagined he might do it. You didn't know him. You had tried to learn a little more, but even if he had wanted to talk about his life back home, how would you know if he was speaking the truth?

The entire situation felt out of your control, at this point. You could have called the police at the very beginning, but it seemed too late for that now. You felt as though the only thing you could do was to sit back and let your decision run its course. 

And if you ended up in a trash bag in some alleyway, you thought, your family would never know that it was partially your own damn fault. But they would have been right all along. You were much too naive.

Even if you did overthink just about everything.

Junkrat of course had no way of knowing that all of these thoughts were parading through your head as you watched him, blissfully unaware and having begun to whistle some tune that you faintly recognized. It wasn't until he turned around to call to you that you realized how long you'd been staring, but to your relief he'd been too focused on his task to notice, even when he caught you looking to him like a deer in headlights. 

The two of you made your way down the side of the building on the alternative ladder he'd discovered and found yourselves on an entirely different street. It was dark, and somehow you were only just making note of it. 

So, homeward bound.

The subway was a little less packed than it had been earlier that day, but still there was little room and nowhere to sit down. It gave you plenty of time for the day's events to return to you in such a chaotic haste that you had to keep your eyes trained on the far end of the subway car to avoid eye contact with anyone - especially Junkrat, who was far too close, thanks to the lack of space.

Home seemed a lifetime away, but you kept yourself from edging on a nervous breakdown with the constant reminder that you would make it there eventually.

When at last the two of you arrived at your doorstep, you hurriedly unlocked the door and made a break for your bedroom before Junkrat could remind you of your impending decision - if he was even still dwelling on the subject.

Strangely enough, he seemed worn out by the trip that the two of you had taken, and made no effort to stop you or make any remarks about your abrupt retreat. Maybe he was beginning to adjust to the mediocrity of your lifestyle. Or maybe he was biding his time, allowing you your privacy for now until he could once again corner you with some new outlandish appeal. 

Whatever it would be, it could wait. For now you were intent on enjoying the solitude of your bedroom. You bundled yourself tightly in your prickly, feather comforter and tried desperately to allow sleep relieve you of the weight of your problems. 

At least only temporarily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, no sign of Hoggie just yet, but we'll see him eventually. yes indeed.  
> finally, I finished this chapter. appy-pollie-loggies for the wait, hope you enjoy, and as always, thanks for reading!


	9. the red stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader needs stress relief after a rough day at work. Junkrat doesn't know how to pronounce WiFi correctly. Kisses are excellent stress relievers. 
> 
> ...huh? Did I say too much?

You woke in a panic before your alarm, thinking you'd overslept. But it was dark still, and the sun had yet to begin its climb above the city. You decided after trying and failing to go back to sleep that it was time to start the day.

The first thought that jumped to the forefront of your mind when you managed to crawl out of bed was simply _coffee_. Followed by the dread of work. 

Why couldn't it just be the opposite - time to lie down and go to sleep again? It was 4 a.m. now, so that would mean... 13 hours until work was over, and then... another hour and a half to get home. Unless traffic was bad.

Bedtime wasn't for another 14 hours or so. You made an audible sound of disgust as you sat up, kicking the covers off of you in a small tantrum.

Then Junkrat's proposal resurfaced. 

You let out a chuckle as you thought it over once more. 

It had sounded absurd the evening before, but when you considered the layout of your day as it was and would be about five days a week otherwise, robbing a bank sounded a lot more preferable to standing in your smelly uniform behind a counter for hours on end. But of course this was coming from the side of you that was still half-asleep and irate for being woken from a comfortable slumber.

* * *

The work day panned out as they usually did: long, boring, dragging, irksome, and so many other words that you could fill several pages of a journal with if you so desired. Only this day seemed to be going worse than usual because there was an unexpected influx of customers and only yourself and two other employees avaliable to tend to them and the myriad of other things that needed to be done in order to keep things running smoothly - or more accurately, to avoid getting fired by your hawk-eyed manager.

You kept to the back of the deli for that day, washing dishes and baking bread. It wouldn't have been so bad if only your coworkers hadn't decided to completely neglect you, popping in every so often just to stack more dishes on the counter beside you. It was seemingly a never-ending nightmare; some sort of punishment for something you weren't sure of that you had done.

Or, no. Maybe this was the cosmos making an attempt to communicate with you its disapproval of your current roommate. It didn't help that toiling away at the dishes was making you feel more and more as though your decision to help him was the right one.

You knew there couldn't really be anything in it for you if you decided after all to help with the bank-robbing. You only hoped that Junkrat would still plan on giving you the money.

Surely he couldn't outright refuse to pay you.

You _were_ doing your part, after all. Junkrat had a place to stay, hidden from authorities, and even a way to roam the city undetected, thanks to your borrowed wardrobe. You hadn't called the cops for the break-in, the bombing - the _murders_ \- or his plan, and above all, you'd expended a most precious resource towards his cause - your time. 

If he wasn't going to pay you for all you'd done so far, then it would just be plain unfair, and you decided you'd get back at him for it somehow.

If his plan really did work out and Junkrat kept his promise after all, you'd be set to quit this job and find something better. You weren't sure how much he was planning on paying you, but if it was enough, maybe you could finally go to school again. Or at least take care of a few rent payments.

That just seemed too good to be true.

You were certain of very few things as that time, but one of them was that you were going to rejoice your last day at your job, whenever it would come.

As if he knew he was on your mind, Junkrat phoned you at work, at the very least giving you the slightest break from the loathsome dishes. Without returning the reluctant greeting you uttered when a coworker handed you the phone, he asked if you might have some paper to spare.

"A fuckton, preferably," he added, ever so politely.

He promptly hung up once you'd satisfied his request, telling him his best bet would be to check the hall closet. 

* * *

You stopped by a small discount grocery store on your way home and armed yourself with as many of the LED candles in their clearance aisle that you could afford. The power wouldn't be back on until later that week, and you reckoned that the ambiance could be relaxing. You also grabbed a box of cheap angel hair pasta and a jar of tomato sauce for the night's supper.

Junkrat sat bowed at the coffee table when you came through the door with your grocery bags rustling in your crooked arm. Oddly, there came no greeting from him even when you made your way around the living room, placing candles strategically in preparation for the impending darkness that would later befall your house when the sun set.

He was still hunched over and scrawling frantically when you returned to the living room later with the two heaping bowls of spaghetti in each hand. He didn't seem to be aware that you were approaching him. Too busy talking to himself, writing something down, bringing the pencil to his mouth to gnaw it in thought - and the cycle continued.

You leaned over to get a look at what it was he was writing, but the chicken scratch was too messy for you to make out. You could see several diagrams he'd sketched, which looked to be some sort of contraptions that you couldn't put a name to. You weren't an engineer anyway. They were actually well illustrated, you had to admit to yourself, even if the linework was shaky.

Probably bombs.

But there were smiley faces too, doodled mostly along the margins of each page. And emboldened exclamation points accompanying certain things he'd written, which must have served to highlight their importance.

It wasn't until you set one of the bowls beside him on the coffee table that Junkrat stirred with a flinch from his feverish task. His head snapped towards the bowl at his side and he leaned forward to sniff at the steam rising sinuously from the bowl before twisting around to look up at you.

"Thanks, mate," he uttered flatly. You offered a silent smile in return that was lost on him as he turned back around to pull the bowl closer in front of him.

You had the mind to eat your own supper alone at the kitchen table, but another part of you was interested to know what he was working on, exactly. You lowered yourself to sit on the floor beside him, resting your bowl of food in your lap.

You looked on as he began digging through the shallow pile of papers that had accumulated on the coffee table, teeth grazing his lower lip in concentration as he sifted for the one he was looking for.

"Ah, fuck. Where'd it go... Know it didn't just fuck right off all by itself," he muttered, lifting a hand to scratch rapidly at his head. " _Ha_. Found ya, little shit."

As he pulled the paper from its burial beneath the others, his elbow brushed your forearm and he jumped at the sudden contact. "Oh, fuck me, mate. Didn't know you was still there," he tittered, absently crumpling the paper held in his now clenched fist. 

You could only attempt a sheepish smile with your mouth full of food. "What is all this?" you managed, a hand shooting up to cover a blob of sauce dripping its way down towards your chin.

Junkrat's thin lips quirked into a tiny smile of his own and he turned to the chaos splayed across the table with a shrug.

"Coupla gameplans, some blueprints... Makin' a few lists, figurin' out some things I got on my mind. Roadhog's got all my ideas with him in- in a briefcase. Gotta keep the thing around so I can remember stuff better. I did some thinkin' while we was holed up for a bit. Figured I'd do some more plannin' today, y'know- 'stead of sittin' around like a bludger," he said, gesturing with his fork.

He stiffened when a bit of sauce fell from the fork and landed with a splat in the middle of one of his diagrams. 

You watched him wipe away the sauce with his thumb, leaving a red blot on the paper.

"What kind of planning?" you asked, your gaze following his thumb as he brought it to his mouth to lick it clean.

"For our gold rush, o' course! Now, I ain't too worried 'bout nothin' goin' as it should, but it don't hurt to be prepared. Really I can't stop thinking about it and there's nothin' else I can do but get things on paper that won't stop- _fuckin_ '- flyin' around in my head." 

You opened your mouth to say something but promptly closed it back when Junkrat smacked his forehead once, then twice with the palm of his flesh hand. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before lowering his hand to rest beside his bowl, flexing it absently as he stared towards the other end of the room.

"You okay?" you said after a moment, leaning forward into his field of vision.

Junkrat turned to you quickly as soon as you uttered the question - back to Earth with a crooken grin. "Got a bad case of the _thinks_ is all. Oh - but thanks for din-dins. Really. 's homemade tucker this time around, yea? You're not so bad a cook, mate." Turning away again, he missed your response - a feeble shrug.

He poked at his pasta and let out a shallow sigh. "Gotta say, I never imagined livin' like this. Ever. Haven't touched a bomb in - however long it's been, now. Heh, unless ya count me dreams. Haven't had ta have a blue over a bite ta eat or- or somethin' that's rightfully mines either. It's kinda- hm... nice ta just put me feet up an' not have ta worry over nothin'. But I gotta keep the gears turnin'. Gotta write down all my ideas. Gotta get a wiggle on an' get this ball rollin'."

"I'm listening," you said when he stopped talking and lapsed into thoughtful silence once more. "If you're ready to talk more about home, that is."

"Nah. Just yabberin' as usual." There was something unusually forlorn in his voice.

"Alright, then. Tell me about those," you said, gesturing towards his mess on the table. "So, what _is_ the plan then? For the gold rush, as you called it."

"You wanna know the plan, eh?" Junkrat tilted his head to you. "You in on it, then?"

"Never said that. I'm just curious is all."

"Righteo. Well, what we've got here is an imagine-ated layout of the security system of your fancy-schmancy bank. 'Cause I've never been, obviously. But it's gotta have a vault, which means I'll jus' have a go at it the same way I always have," he said. "Take a coupla my 'splodey doodads, line 'em up 'round the perimeter of the vault door, step back, and - presto. **_BOOM_**." He acted out the motion of placing the bombs, punctuating the sound of the explosion by throwing his arms out wide and giggling. "Worked like a charm back in Dorado."

"And if it's not the same?" you asked.

"Well, then I'll-" Junkrat began with confidence, which faltered slightly when he visibly gave it more thought. "Reckon I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."

"Do you ever do any real research on these types of things beforehand?" you spoke without thinking. "Or do you just sort of - _wing it_?"

Junkrat chuckled at your question.

"Mate, the bush - she's abundant in all things sand and scrap and critters galore, but she's severely lacking in the _WeeFee_ access department, so 'fraid that's no-go. So, I 'spose the answer to your question is... trial an' error. That's the method I swear by. _And_ it's heaps more fun."

"Right, and it's all fun and games until you get apprehended," you said, rising from the floor only to sit back down onto the couch instead.

"No shit. Oi, you sure your name ain't Debbie?" Junkrat turned around to furrow his bare brow at you. "'Cause you're a fuckin' Debbie Downer, _you_ are."

He slurped up more noodles, leaning down over his bowl as they dangled messily from his mouth. Licking at his lips, he picked up the pencil once more and continued to write, tongue hanging out and worming downwards in vain to reach the sauce that speckled his chin. His hand came up instead to wipe away it away and you watched with a scowl as he rubbed it on the white shirt you'd lent him, leaving a stain.

With a sigh, you sat back against the couch, rolling your shoulders and leaning your head into the plush, musty cushions. The herbal aroma of the spaghetti sauce still lingered in the air, and even if it mingled rather inharmoniously with the mothball scent of your second-hand couch, you couldn't help but relax ever so slightly in the homey atmosphere of your humble townhouse that evening.

Even Junkrat, absorbed once again in his scheming, made for decent company. His presence actually gave you some comfort - and for a moment, you found yourself dreading his inevitable departure once his business in the city was over and done with. Certainly not because it would be _him_ that was leaving, but rather that you would once again be all alone.

At least Spunky would still be there. Even if she spent the majority of her time asleep, somewhere inconspicuous if not in the middle of your bed, it was far better than being alone.

"Oi, Debs, what's eatin' ya?" Junkrat once again forced you out of a deep train of thought by plopping down onto the couch beside you. "You look like _you_ could use a drink."

"I don't really drink," you said, looking anywhere but him.

"That so? Who is it that's got a bottl'a plonk stashed away in the tippy-top of your cabinet in there?" Junkrat smirked, jerking a thumb towards the kitchen. 

"Bottle of what?" Your question was of genuine confusion, but simultaneously you were guilty as charged, partially certain you knew what he was referring to. 

"You-know-what."

You winced at Junkrat's finger when he jabbed it in your face in playful accusation. "Stop digging in my things when I'm gone. Or I'll buy you a man-sized cage." You chuckled at your own joke when it spurred a far-too-silly mental image.

Junkrat offered his own laugh of amusement. "Was just lookin' for some grub when I spied it with me little eye. Also, you couldn't keep a bloke like me caged if you wanted to. Gettin' outta predicaments is sorta within my skillset."

The look you gave him bordered on a glare. 

"But don't think I forgot 'bout our little chat about the importance of _trust_ ," he grunted, demonstrating momentarily the actuality of his lengthy body as he straightened his hunched posture to stretch against the back of the couch. "That bein' said, if you want me caged while you're not around, well... All the best for my dearest roomie. Wouldn't be the worst I've endured."

You ignored his geniality, interested instead in an elaboration, which you requested in an inevitably awkward choice of words.

"Soz, mate, I weren't intending ta segway into a conversation 'bout me past trials 'n tribulations - if ya will so call my multiple occasions of waltzing with the Reaper. Not that Talon bastard, neither. But - getting back ta my original point! Is a cage the worst you've got? Well, I say - hit me with your best shot! Made a rhyme there, heh."

His antics earned him a chuckle.

"I was just joking, you know," you said. "Even if I do believe you deserve incarceration for what I imagine is only the tip of the iceberg of the crimes you've committed, I'm not planning on taking it upon myself to imprison you."

"Yea, yea. I knew that," Junkrat smiled coyly as he turned to you. "Just playin' along. You've too good a heart after all to lock up a fellow human bean, aren't ya? Why, that'd be... _unethical_ , wouldnit? An' that just ain't _you_ , is it?"

"Junkrat, what are you on about?" 

Why was his grin so _sharp_?

"Be a real sweetheart, would ya, an' fetch us that plonk you've got stowed away, yea?" His smile faded only so he could force a pleading facade. "You wouldn't deny a bloke one of the wonders of the world, would you? Much less yourself."

You couldn't help but laugh outright, and this seemed to please him.

"You're absolutely ridiculous," you said, standing.

"Well, c'mon then. That a yay or a nay?" Junkrat broke from character, his smirk returning.

"My answer is yes, but I have to warn you," you answered, walking backwards toward the kitchen. "It's the cheapest I could find."

"Sure I've had worse," you heard Junkrat reply.

You returned shortly with a small glass cradled in each hand and the wine bottle tucked beneath an arm. Under the fixation of Junkrat's thoughtful, silent gaze, you settled back onto the couch and offered him a glass, which he accepted with a genuine smile in place of his smirk. 

"I _was_ saving this for a special occasion of some sort," you spoke wistfully, filling Junkrat's glass once you'd managed to get the bottle open. 

"Occasions are what you make of 'em, I reckon." Junkrat raised his glass.

You returned the gesture after pouring yourself a decent amount of the wine. You sipped at yours sparingly in contrast to Junkrat, who downed his first round in a few loud gulps.

"That hits the spot," he belched, reaching for the bottle to help himself to another glassful. "Always nice ta hit the turps after a long day of criminal masterminding! Hahah! Oi, whatcha thinkin' 'bout over there? You don't look as lively as I reckoned you'd be if we broke out the good stuff this fine arvo."

"I'm tired and my back hurts," you said, laying your head back for a moment. "But maybe I did need this today."

"Tough work you've got, eh?"

"You could say that. And yet here we are, still without power. Hardly seems worth it when I take a step back to think about it," you said before taking another sip. 

"Ah, the rat race. Way I see it, mate, you can't really blame a bloke, then, for finding other routes for rakin' in his cash. All the more reason for you ta ditch your bloody Big Smoke."

"And go where?" 

Junkrat shrugged. "Anywhere _else_... ?" 

You laughed at that notion. "I invested too much time, money, and energy into moving here to just up and leave."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Junkrat began, taking a swig of his drink, "but does one not expect some sorta payoff when they invest their resources?"

"Well, yeah, and I'm working towards the payoff. I _am_. It's just taking time."

"Right- an' let's say, for instance, I _had_ gone an' blown ya up into bits after all. Then what? Would you have died a happy lark, mate, or as a miserable work in progress? Just wondering."

Your brow knit as you processed his question. "What does that even mean?"

"All I'm sayin' is life's too short to get caught up in all the fuckin' shit that keeps people droning about, 'stead of enjoyin' themselves. An' all the while feedin' into the very thing that's keepin' 'em droning on and on 'till-" he blew a raspberry  "- they're dead an' that's it."

You had a feeling that he wasn't finished, so you waited patiently as he visibly grappled with his thought process. 

"Look, I've told ya how things are back home. Bein' alive at all is a _thrill_ , 'cause, well, killing is the easiest way ta settle things, or - or y'know, get something you're wanting but can't have 'cause someone _else_ has it and you just know you gotta have it now 'cause everyone else wants the thing, too. And anyway, mate, here I am 'cross the pond an' I've had meself a slice of normalcy. Real comfy. It's been an experience, all right. It's been a _fine_ holiday so far. But you wanna know something? I sorta _miss_ home. Nah, I defo miss home. 'Least if I'm feelin' crotchety I can blow somethin' up."

"Well, hopefully you'll be home soon enough," you said. There was more you wanted to say - to ask - but you weren't sure where to begin.

When you looked to him again after a beat of silence, Junkrat was sitting rather still, staring pensively towards the other end of the room. He finished off his second glass of the wine, downing the last few drops.

"I dunno. Somethin' just don't seem right," he started, placing his glass on the coffee table lopsided, so that it fell to the floor with a _plink._ "'bout you flushin' hours of your life down the shitter at some crummy _job_ -job. Sounds like torture, if ya want my humble opinion." He reached for the bottle of wine and threw his head back, adam's apple jumping with each gulp he took. A crisp-sounding burp escaped from him and he shrugged heartily. "But what do I know?" he said finally, offering an uncertain smile.

" _Aw_ ," you gave him your brightest and cheekiest in return. "I'm touched, Junkrat."

"You wot."

"You want me to be happy."

"Well, _no_ that ain't what I was - I mean, _sure_ , yea -" Junkrat clenched at the neck of the bottle in his hand, eyes darting away from you. "I just figure, y'know, like I said - life's too _short_. That's all I'm saying. Reckon you could use more fun in your life, 'stead of workin' yourself ta death. Ain't no way ta live - for anyone. That's all."

"I see. Thank you for sharing your philosophy." You hesitated a moment, strumming your fingers along the glass in your hand. "You know, I've been wanting to go out dancing since before I moved here. Maybe some time, well... if we could find the time we could -"

"You inviting me ta go out dancin' with ya?" Junkrat intervened when you failed to finish your request.

"Sure," you nodded. "If you wanted to, that would be fun, I think."

"So, but what you've _really_ just done is asked lil ole me on a date." His smile spread slowly across his closed mouth before splitting into an ever so impish, toothy grin.

Your breath caught in your throat. " _I_... suppose you could call it that. If it floats your boat. I mean, roommates do those sort of things sometimes. Right?"

"Do they? Well, whatever you wanna call it, it sounds bloody splendid," Junkrat beamed. " _Phew_ , gonna need ta jot this down in me diary later tonight."

You laughed again, maybe a bit too hard. The alcohol was certainly setting in. You felt lighter, as though now you could stretch out and away from the pull of the stress keeping you on edge and curled into yourself. You still minded your intake of wine, sipping subtly at your drink and savoring each pool of the liquid on your tongue. Couldn't go too far. Only enough to ease your nerves, and this was working.

Junkrat kept you entertained with this or that story, most of them involving homemade explosives he'd MacGyvered and very poor decision making. But even as droll as he was, slurring now and cracking up at his own jokes before he could even reach the punchline, certain things he said made you once again wonder about his life story - particularly before the crime and the obsession with bombs.

You decided ultimately not to ask. Instead you listened intently as be babbled on, pausing only to knock back the bottle he clutched like a lifeline. 

As it happens in conversations, a sudden silence settled on the two of you once you'd both finished laughing at something that only two people intoxicated with alcohol and jubilant company could find humor in. Junkrat turned to you finally when he decided he couldn't stand the lack of dialogue any longer.

"Yer fuckin' smashed, ain't ya?" he sneered. "Whatsit, like your sixth round or somethin'?"

You chuckled, more at his goofy, red-tinged expression than his remark. It seemed he hadn't noticed that you'd been sipping on the same glass all along.

"I'm fuckin' smashed too," he sighed. 

Maybe it wasn't fair that you'd deliberately remained sober, but even if you felt some semblance of camaraderie with him since he'd invaded so much of your personal life, your trust for him was still not yet stable. 

"Wan' me ta... top'yoff?" Junkrat stumbled over his question, looking perplexed. "I meant, top-you-off."

"I'm okay," you answered meekly before finishing off what remained of your drink and setting it on the coffee table.

"Aright, well don' go throwin' a warbly when itzall gone-zo." From the corner of your eye, Junkrat nursed the bottle for a moment before pulling away with a contented sigh. His form was still for a moment in the dimly lit room until after a while he turned to you again.

"Oi, roomie."

"What?" Your eyes shifted to his and his mouth curled into a sneer seeping with mischief.

Junkrat lifted the hand that wasn't gripping the wine bottle and wiggled one finger towards the corner of his grin. "Ya got a, ah.. lil' sum'n theres... on yer gob, mate," he chuckled out the last word. "Bit of the red stuff."

You blinked ignorantly, frustrated by his unfaltering smile. 

"Right... _there_. Just a bit a' toe-matey juice on ya. Here, I gotcha." Before you could think to protest, he leaned in burningly close to quickly flick his tongue at the edge of your mouth, leaving you petrified when he pulled away, snickering.

"What the _fuck_ , dude," you spat, wiping at the afflicted area with the back of your hand. 

Junkrat pursed his lips in a vain attempt to constrain his laughter. He sputtered when his effort failed and cackled, slapping his hand to his forehead.

" _Oh_!" he cried, throwing his head back. "I wish you could see that... _face_ you're making. Fuck me _dead_ , it's too much."

"You're so disgusting," you glared from the other end of the couch as he continued to convulse with suppressed giggles. "Who _does_ that?"

Junkrat turned his mirthful expression towards you and chucked again when he saw that you were still periodically rubbing his "cooties" from the edge of your mouth. "Was just _ffuckin_ ' with ya."

"Not funny," you griped with a wince when he leaned over to nudge you with his bony elbow. "I've told you not to kiss me before."

At that Junkrat scrunched his nose. "Weren't no _kiss_. I'm not a dog."

"You're right. That was even worse."

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke up again you wished he'd have kept up the silence instead.

"Maybe you'd fancy a real one."

You knew what he meant, and yet your discomfort forced you to feign ignorance.

"A real what?"

"A peck. A _pash_ , if you will." Junkrat was either extremely patient or too drunk to detect your purposeful obliviousness towards his remark. 

You couldn't see it because you wouldn't look, but you could feel his smile. It was too easy to picture, like seeing spots after staring at the sun too long.

Your body switched suddenly to autopilot and you reached for your glass on the table, which was now virtually empty. A thin layer of red lay at the bottom and it stirred from its stagnation and chased itself in a small circle when you swirled the glass a few times, biding your time.

Junkrat's gaze weighed heavy on you and you knew he was waiting for some form of answer. It was remarkable that he'd managed to stay silent this long so far. You lifted the glass and suckled at its brim, tilting it so that the last remnants of your drink trickled down to meet your lips. 

"Y'know, 'sposedly, a good kiss is an ace stress reliever," Junkrat spoke lowly, attempting to edge you out of your silent spell. "Or so I've heard. Maybe we could-" he broke off in a small, fluttery chuckle. "Maybe we could test it out for ourselves, eh? Scientific Method, 'n all that..."

"Um," you began, wishing you were anywhere but there on that couch. You were fidgeting with your now empty glass, utterly unsure of how to respond. He was drunk. So really this meant nothing at all. You just needed to bid him goodnight and hope that he would sleep soon, too.

You snuck a glance, thinking maybe he'd focused his gaze on something else after such a long period of silence. Instead you made eye contact, which you immediately broke away from to lean forward, gathering your collective dishes from the evening to take them to the kitchen. That would be the initiation of your escape from this awkward interaction, you decided.

"Oi, wuzzit somethin' I said?" Junkrat called after you. You pretended not to hear and spent the next few minutes doing dishes slower than you ever had in your life.

When you returned, Junkrat looked to you with a pitiful expression. "Soz, mate," he smiled sheepishly, lifting the bottle to shake it. "Plonk's all gone. Was gonna save you some, but you took too long."

"That's okay," you said. And it really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only took since before Halloween, but here's our next installment! Thanks for reading!


	10. I.O.U.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a baby chapter with something important to say.

Here was the meek employee, armed in an apron and visor of the same garish color, flowing along with a crowd that broke off from time to time as its contents gravitated towards their respective destinations and regenerated as new pedestrians fed into its girth once more.

Around you, heels clicked, boots clopped, and sneakers scuffed. The occasional sneeze or cough exploded somewhere in the midst, or sometimes close by, and you would instinctively hold your breath until you felt the airborne germs fade away as you advanced along the street.

Such was the final stretch from subway station to your deli, and vice versa. It was the same ordeal almost every day, and today would have been no different - except that you were going the wrong way. 

There could be interruptions in your routine from time to time, to be sure - like explosive encounters with mad men, or sudden decisions. Today's intervention was the latter. A switch had been flipped before you could reach the halfway point and you were roused from the spell that drew you towards your deli that lay nestled in wait like a crouching predator.

You made it a block before your decision set in and you realized just what you were doing. The intent was not to quit. Not yet, at least. Just a simple no-show. You wouldn't be the first employee to do this. 

As if to solidify your decision, you buttoned up your jacket over your uniform and stuffed the visor-in-hand into one of its large pockets.

_inconspicuous_

It was a silly notion that anyone in the crowd should detect your truancy - or even care, for that matter. But guilt weighed heavy all the same, and eventually guilt forged itself into a bout of anxiety that speared its way into your chest, and your heart was pounding in its wake like a flag flapping desperately in the wind. 

You attempted to take a short walk along a row of tempting window displays, but eventually even the most enticing of merchandise faded into one kaleidoscopic image in your mind and you couldn't be bothered to look for too long. There were only so many clothing articles that could draw you in and subsequently sink your spirits at a single glance of the price tag before it merely became a form of self-torture.

It took another block or so for you to realize that walking clearly wasn't getting you anywhere (mentally, at least), so you stopped at a coffee shop with a display that beckoned you in with that bepearled drink that you'd enjoyed so much that day when you'd been out and about with Junkrat. What flavor had it been? You couldn't remember. You would try something different this time. 

Naturally, you chose a booth along the far wall of the cafe, away from other patrons.

Your anxiety only spiked now that you were seated and no longer actively trying to outwalk it. You were completely still now, if not for the one bouncing foot that you finally mollified by crossing your ankles beneath the chair.

Now you were fidgeting with a packet of sugar you'd absently plucked from the caddy at your table. The shop was relatively full, but its occupants all shared a reserved disposition and there was only the faintest audible conversation coming from somewhere towards the front counter. 

Even in spite of this tranquil atmosphere, you felt for some reason as though everyone was looking at you - swaddled in your jacket in the back of a coffee shop instead of where you were supposed to be. Your anxiety then whispered something to you that set you into even further unease.

_they know. about everything._

But of course they didn't. As far as anyone else was concerned, you reassured yourself, you were a mere prop in this coffee shop. Something to glance at momentarily and forget altogether. _A prop of the shop, a prop of the shop_ , your mind then began chanting idly, interrupted when your order was announced.

You briskly retrieved your drink from the barista and offered a feeble smile before returning to your seclusion in the back of the shop. Your first sip was eager and you smiled around the straw. The drink was even more delicious than you'd remembered it. 

You were feeling a little better now with something tasty to occupy your mind at least temporarily, and between each sip you were sure to take your time savoring the flavor of your beverage and the atmosphere of the cafe. You felt ready to be home, but another part of you wanted to remain there in that dim booth, all by your lonesome. Going home meant literally facing one of the problems that was triggering your anxiety that otherwise pleasant October morning.

Couldn't avoid it forever, though.

On your way out, you ordered the same drink, but this time half-sweet. You remembered that part, at least. With your token of decency - because appreciation was a word you didn't feel was completely suited - tucked in one arm against you, you set off towards the subway station.

You weren't sure what tasted sweeter. Was it that sugary aftertaste of the milk tea gracing your taste buds? Or maybe it was the wave of exhilaration you'd caught once you'd made your decision to ditch work and _live_ for once in this new life you were slowly building for yourself.

Undoubtedly, it was both. 

* * *

You arrived home when noon was soon to pass. You imagined that Junkrat was still asleep, considering he'd taken it upon himself to drain the majority of the wine bottle the night before.

But when you stepped through the door he was at the coffee table again, scribbling away at his plans. This time he sat up from his work to lift the hand clutching his pencil and wiggle the free fingers in a small wave.

"Hi," you mirrored the gesture, shutting the door behind you. You were still feeling uneasy, anticipating at any time the call from your boss, who no doubt was wondering where the hell you were. 

"I see you're back to masterminding," you remarked, making your way to the couch with the intention of throwing yourself into its musty embrace. 

"Cheers for noticing," Junkrat began, sitting up straighter. "that I, your humble roomie, possess mastermind...ful... ah, tendencies. Heh." 

You sat up only to lean forward without a word and set your milk tea offering at his side on the coffee table before letting yourself sink back into the couch.

" _You little beauty_ ," Junkrat gasped, turning to offer what looked more like an expression of shock than delight.

"I think the appropriate response from me would be... you're welcome?" you smiled. 

Junkrat was too busy with his mouth sealed to the straw to answer. His drink was halfway gone before he set it back down. "Better savor the rest, eh? Oi, I owe you one for this. Well, two. _Three_? I just... _owe ya_ ," he chuckled, turning to you again.

You agreed with that, but not aloud. "I guess maybe I owed you for acquainting me with it. Didn't think it would be fair if I got one and left you hanging."

"Shoulda invited me," Junkrat said. "With all this lack of sun I reckon I'll be a bloodsucker by the time we find ole Pigface."

You chuckled at the nickname, wondering if it was one Junkrat used when addressing him directly. 

"I guess I would have," you said, absently fiddling with a loose thread on your coat. "But it wasn't really planned."

"Yea? Then what were you up to out there in the Big Smoke? Didja chuck a sickie, Debs?" 

"Hm? Chuck a what?"

Junkrat slapped his knee. "Means ya bailed on work. That's what you did, innit?"

Your anxiety had already sunken you into shame, and his amusement made you feel no better. 

"I did," you said. "I don't know why I did it, but I did."

"'Cause you know what's best for ya," Junkrat answered simply, closing his mouth around his straw again. 

Did you? Or did he think _he_ did? You wouldn't dare say it, but even if he'd been riding a buzz, the things he'd said the night before struck a chord within you and had left you thinking about the bigger picture.

It wasn't that you wanted to submit to a life of crime, like he'd proposed. You weren't _that_ naive. 

It only made too much sense that death was ever-impending and you needed to start living for yourself instead of expending as much mental and physical energy as you did at your job.

You had dreams. You wanted to chase them. It would begin with drawing boundaries and learning when to say _no_ \- but also when to say _yes_ without overwhelming yourself with irrational fear. 

What did all of this mean? You were still sifting through these oncoming thoughts and sorting them out for yourself. Now you found yourself having lapsed into a rigid silence that Junkrat instantly caught onto once he slurped down the remainder of his liquid distraction.

"You right there, Debs? You don't look so hot - an' you've even got your coat on, still," he tittered. 

"Back's still hurting," you lied. 

Junkrat mused for a moment, swirling the half-melted ice in his cup with the straw. "Need a rub?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," you shot him a bemused glance, figuring the offer was in jest.

"Lemme getcha back for this beaut," Junkrat rattled his cup and planted it onto the coffee table before standing. "G'arn, get comfy."

"I am comfy," you frowned.

"Right, but I can't get at ya with your back all pressed 'gainst the couch. Maybe scoot forward an' I'll sneak in behind ya. It'll be good. I owe ya, don't I?"

You stared up at him in silent disapproval, waiting in vain for him to give up. 

"Fine," you said at last, disappointed that you had to be the one of lesser resilience. You moved forward until you felt your buttocks perch at the very edge of the couch and sat waiting patiently, albeit nervously for the unexpected offer to be fulfilled.

Junkrat clamored needlessly over the arm to settle behind you, his weight dipping the cushion so that you were pulled backwards into him. 

"That's - not happening," you laughed, moving to the other end of the couch. "I'll just sit here." You turned in the seat so that your back was facing him. "Oh-" You worked to unbutton your jacket and struggled out of its embrace, letting it fall to the floor.

"Yea, that's better, actually. Alrighty. Jus' tell me where it's bitin' ya an' I'll get to it. Been told I'm, uh. Good with me hands." Junkrat's voice sounded behind you. 

You felt warmer even though you'd shed the jacket. "The middle, mostly. And towards my shoulders, too." 

"Roger," Junkrat said, letting it fall silent for a moment before adding, "I've got your back, mate."

You stifled a laugh at that, resting your elbows on the arm of the couch in front of you. "Good one."

"Ta."

Your gaze focused towards the far wall as Junkrat began. You felt his metal hand rest lightly on your shoulder - cool and angular, but not uncomfortable. Then a warm spread of fingers landed beneath your shoulderblade. He ran his thumb in slow circles, slowly making his way up your back, down, and up again.

"Yea?" you heard him say, his hand at a standstill, but thumb still moving. "Or nah?"

"That's good," you answered, eyes tracing the angel statue on the mantel that you'd brandished the day you found him lounging in your kitchen. 

This did feel nice. Eventually you let yourself relax. 

Junkrat continued working his way up and down both sides of your back before withdrawing both hands momentarily. The metal one returned by itself, the cool, flat edges of what felt like fingertips dragging firmly over the muscles of your back. 

A chill bristled you briefly, but it wasn't unpleasant. 

"Still good, yea?" Junkrat said, a hint of a smile in his tone. 

"Yes, thanks," you spoke distantly. Somehow you'd managed to lose the edge and your mind was somewhere else. You were thinking of how you were enjoying this, but also how you wondered when it was going to end. You could think of everything _but_ what to say, and the silence was only an invitation for your mind to generate unwanted thoughts about other things Junkrat might be good at, which frankly you didn't need to know.

Ever disobedient, your mind continued to torment itself until you had to mentally utter _no_ with each press of Junkrat's hands, metal and flesh alike, into your back - which might have been less tense by now if only you could have kept your wandering mind from utterly blasting into forbidden territory.

It didn't help that you were now recalling that he'd expressed interest in a kiss the night before. He'd been drunk, so it was likely that it was a joke - or it could have been a serious offer that had hitherto slipped his mind.

You decided you weren't going to bring it up. Most likely he'd forgotten, and if so, that was how it would be. There was no need to indulge your intrusive thoughts. 

So your mind switched to something else. Anything else. You turned to the coffee table, eyes grazing over the cluttered surface.

"Do your plans always include elaborate pictures?" you said, focusing on an illustration of what appeared to be a man wearing some sort of straight jacket with wild, spiked hair.

"What's that? Oh-" Junkrat withdrew his hands from you and left the couch only to rearrange the mess on the table so that the newest additions were hidden beneath the rest. "Nothing. That's what that is," he said, knee jabbing you as he returned clumsily to his place behind you on the couch. 

"What," you winced, "is that something I can't see?" 

"No. Well, yea. Not yet. Gonna show you an' Hoggie together when he gets here. Had me a rather inspirational dream last night an' I've been making some revisions to the plan," Junkrat explained, focusing his flesh hand on kneading at the area between your shoulders. "You'll like this one." 

"You never even told me about the original plan," you said, shrugging. "Just something about blowing up a vault."

"Eh, you're right. Still gonna do that, but it's just a step in the grand scheme of things, really."

"What's the grand scheme, then? Or at least maybe tell me what the old plan was."

"Nah," Junkrat dismissed the proposition with a wave of his hand. "Tell ya this much, though - the old plan was a lot less... _dramatic_ ," he drawled. "That's all I've got for ya."

You grew suddenly wistful as you really considered the possibilities of what that might entail.

"Junkrat," you said finally, turning your head only far enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

"Yea?"

You were silent with apprehension, and when Junkrat's hand stopped in place, you grew even more so. 

"Your new plan doesn't involve killing anyone, does it?" 

The question seemed to stun him, and he could only manage an uneasy chuckle.

"That question feels sorta loaded if I'm bein' honest," Junkrat laughed again. "Y'know, it ain't exactly the intent, if that's what you're meaning. But I figure it's something that could maybe-"

"Is it a step, though? Like the vault. Does someone have to die for this to work out?" you spoke gravely. "Guards? Tellers? Policemen?" 

"Well, no, it ain't part of the plan, per se, mate, but I'd be lyin' if I told ya there won't be no casualties. But why's it bug you so bad? Don't people do that sorta thing all the time anyway?"

"What sort of thing?"

"Y'know -" He paused, drumming his fingers along your shoulders. "Croak. Bite the dust. Cark it... Die."

You stiffened, shaking your head. "So you're saying it's okay to kill people. Because we all die anyway."

"Mate, living is dying, ain't it?" His voice sounded a lot closer all of the sudden.

"So it wouldn't have mattered if I had died in the explosion you caused, then. What you're saying is that the kind of work that you and your friend do makes people like me expendable because we're just - in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that's perfectly fine. I'm sorry. I just don't get it. This is why I don't think I can help you do this. It's hard enough for me to keep letting you stay here. I feel like I'm putting people in danger, and that's the last thing I want to do."

You weren't looking, but you could feel Junkrat's gaze burning into you as he thought over what you had said. The hand resting between your shoulderblades dragged down a short way before his touch disappeared entirely.

Part of you was fearful that you'd went too far in admitting that you still didn't trust him completely, and that he'd react violently to avoid the potential outcome of being outed by you. 

You finally chanced another look over your shoulder at his face and felt that initial fear from the day you'd met him rekindling within you. His expression was difficult to read, and you were unable to imagine what he was thinking until he spoke up again.

"Dying is sorta just like bad luck, I reckon. Sometimes ya get ta be old and wrinkled an' you hit the sack and never come back," Junkrat broke off into a chuckle at his own poetic inclination before clearing his throat to regain the more serious tone in which he'd begun. "Then sometimes you go 'splodey whilst takin' a stroll down the street. Or you don't, 'cause you're a lucky ducky an' it ain't your time ta go yet." He hesitated before continuing to knead at you with both hands. "For what it's worth, mate, I'm glad you didn't go 'splodey."

For an instant you thought - you wanted - that to be a heartfelt remark, but the cynical side of you denied it as such. You could only offer a shrug, as usual. 

"Yeah, I guess the luck was in both of our favors that time," you said.

"Yea? How's that?"

"I doubt anyone else you might have run into would be as gullible as I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellie, wellie, lookie who updated twice in one month. This one was meant to be longer, but it just felt right where I ended up cuttin' it. We're gettin' where I want to be! Little by little folks, 'cause this story is therapeutic for me to write at times. I hope you enjoy this early Christmas prezzle and as always........ thanks for reading!


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